


We Will Take It Back

by KindreTurnany



Series: Watchtower [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Stiles, M/M, Manipulation, Revenge, Self-Destructive Behavior, Steter Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:43:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1480060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KindreTurnany/pseuds/KindreTurnany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles came to himself on his knees, staring at his own hands where they clenched into trembling fists. He had killed Haha, No. He was supposed to be safe now, but Stiles would never be safe again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Talisman

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the great and powerful Chiomi!
> 
> The title comes from Fall Out Boy's "The Phoenix."
> 
> Underage warning removed because enough time has passed since the beginning of This is Not Our Fate that Stiles is 18. I don’t know exactly how much time (I’m only barely better at math than Jeff Davis), but he was sixteen going on seventeen at the beginning.

Stiles tried not to bleed on the trees. He wiped blood from his ear with his fingers and rubbed it on his pant leg absently. The leaves surrounding him shifted slightly with his movement, so Stiles swung himself down and around the tree limb he’d been perched on just before an arrow sailed past where his mouth had been moments before. Stiles resisted the urge to shout something sarcastic. He was supposed to be serious. He hit the ground and tucked into a roll that turned into a sprint. He’d had a throwing knife but already lost it. A can of mace rode at his hip for all the good it would do against an archer, and he was about as good at hiding as he was at shutting up.

                Speaking of shutting up... “This isn’t exactly a fair fight,” he shouted. Screw being serious. Stiles couldn’t defend himself if he was serious.

                “That’s kind of the point.” She was above him. It sounded like she was moving east, so she would have changed direction as soon as she finished speaking. Stiles darted around a tree and began zigzagging through the dense brush, praying that she would miss him. Not that he could count on it.

                When he found the tip of an arrow pointed at his face, Stiles was ready to leap aside. He sprayed his little can of mace as close to her face as he could get mid-jump, and she rolled her eyes before releasing an arrow at his gut. She drew another and set it against his nose lightly before pulling back.

                “And you’re dead. Again.”

                “Ease up, Allison. I have three months of training to your lifetime.” Stiles coughed. “Also you almost actually killed me like five times.” He scratched at the bulletproof-fucking-vest he’d stolen from the police station to help him survive Allison’s cruel excuse for training.

                “I knew you’d dodge.” She smirked at him as she retrieved the arrow that would have been soaked in his intestinal fluids if Stiles didn’t wear armor while she “hunted” him.

                “Did not. You just don’t like me anymore.”

                “I thought you were supposed to be some sort of big bad killer now.” She’d pulled out her sarcasm voice. That meant Stiles was in trouble. Not the deadly kind of trouble and not the playful kind of trouble, but the Allison-was-on-to-him kind of trouble.

                “No, no I’m a _Joker_ ; it’s completely different.” He neglected to mention that Joker was the name he got when he became a killer, or that maybe his gladiator-style captivity had been a little bit of training before the months he’d spent with Allison.

                “No, no,” she mimicked, “You’re a _faker._ I’ve seen what you can do, and this isn’t it.”

                “You gave me a knife and pepper spray and expected me to take out a trained hunter with a bow.”

                “No, I told you to _beat_ a trained hunter with a bow. I get the feeling that if I’d actually told you to take me out, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

                Stiles winced. “Come on, Allison, you know I wouldn’t kill you.”

                “Unless you had to. But Stiles, life isn’t built entirely of exceptional circumstances. You have to learn to fight under normal conditions, or you’re going to wind up dead.”

                Stiles collapsed back against the earth and foliage and pretended Allison didn’t exist.

                “And if you’re bad enough, you’ll get Derek killed too.” Her foot lifted off the ground for a moment, but she only spun on her heel and left. Allison knew Stiles well enough to realize she wouldn’t need to kick him after that.

                The trees swayed above him with a breeze Stiles had prayed for to mask his movements during training. Of course. The only thing to ever work to Stiles’ advantage was murder, and he was supposed to be avoiding that sort of thing now. Mostly. Sort of. He had promised not to kill anyone not actively trying to kill him. Or his dad. Or Derek. Or Scott. Or anyone else in their dysfunctional pack. Everyone Stiles had ever killed still qualified, so his promises left a sour taste in his mouth.

                Derek was on his way. They had practiced keeping space between their minds even more diligently than Stiles worked on martial arts and weapons training, but he always knew where Derek was, even if he tried not to know what he was thinking. Stiles studied the leaves as he waited. The breeze died out again, but the leaves still moved with what Stiles was sure Deaton would call either ‘the pulse of nature’ or ‘nothing, Stiles, I’m a veterinarian.’

                “Allison said you were getting mopey,” Derek said as he walked the last few feet to kneel beside Stiles. ‘Mopey’ was their word for a depressive expression of instability, as opposed to violent or manic. Stiles hated when they called him mopey.

                “Well, fuck Allison. She’s a terrible teacher.”

                “She’s a really good teacher, actually.”

                “Don’t you dare take her side. She tried to kill you.”

                “I’m over it.”

                Stiles closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at Derek’s face. It didn’t help since he still felt Derek in his head. “Go away.” It felt childish, especially after everything they’d been through, but Stiles couldn’t bring himself to take it back. Even with training and strategizing and researching The Watchtower, Stiles’ life had lost the constant adrenaline rush that kept him going. His brain was falling back into place, and not all the pieces fit anymore. Derek understood. Most days Derek was worse off than Stiles, but Stiles couldn’t bring himself to accept Derek’s comfort because he didn’t know how anymore.

                After a long silence, Derek said, “It’s getting dark.”

                Stiles nodded and stood.

                “She thinks I’m holding back,” he admitted as they walked toward his Jeep.

                “Aren’t you?”

                “It doesn’t feel like I am. It just...” Stiles struggled. He knew what he meant. Derek knew what he meant, but Stiles still wanted to find a way to say it. Maybe letting it out from himself could help him solve it. “I didn’t win because I was better or stronger. I mean, sometimes I was, but that wasn’t what mattered. I won because they thought they understood me, and I used that against them.”

                “I know.”

                “I know you know.”

                “I know you know I know.”

                “I hate when you’re chill and I’m freaking out. Stop it. And don’t say anything witty.” Stiles shoved his fists in his pockets.

                “Yesterday I dropped an envelope bringing in the mail for your father and wound up gripping the doorknob so tightly I cracked it.”

                “I know.”

                “I know you know.”

                “Shut the fuck up, you piece of hot werewolf shit.”

                Derek smirked. “You’re sending really mixed signals right now.”

                Stiles snarled. It wasn’t as intimidating as when Derek snarled since, well, human versus werewolf, but the point wasn’t to scare Derek. Stiles needed somewhere to vent his frustration, and a sound was less dangerous than, say, hunting rogue monsters on his own or downing a bottle of Jack Daniels, also on his own. He forced himself to breathe more slowly. Derek was trying to distract him. He knew (because Derek knew) that distracting Stiles was the easiest way to work past his mood swings.

                “Did you replace the lock yet?” he asked.

                “Yeah. We changed all the locks because...” Because Derek got a little obsessive when someone gave him a project, so he couldn’t just stop after one lock. Stiles didn’t make Derek say it. He understood.

                “Did you bring me my key? Because I’d really like to get into my own house.”

                “No, I’ve claimed your house for my own. Only I can enter it.”

                “What about my dad?”

                “Well, he’s the sheriff. Gotta stay on his good side.”

                “But I’m his son. Wouldn’t he want me there?”

                “Not if I let him eat cheeseburgers.”

                “Fucking traitor.” They had reached the Jeep by now, and Stiles leaned against it. Derek had driven out in his Camaro, so they would drive home separately even though the sheriff had let Derek move in after he realized it was the best way to keep Stiles nearby. Sometimes the way he looked at his son after Stiles and Derek had not-so-discreetly just had sex made Stiles think his father may not have thought it through fully.

                Derek tossed him the key and had the nerve to chuckle when Stiles and his human reflexes fumbled it. “I’ll see you at home,” he said once Stiles had the key in his hand.

                “I have to make a stop first.”

                “Where?”

                “Deaton’s.”

                “Is something wrong?”

                “No.” Stiles bit his lip. “No, I just have something I want to ask him about.”

                “Well, have him clean up your ear, too. Your dad will freak out if you come home bleeding again.” With that Derek slid into his Camaro and pulled away like Stiles running mystery errands and asking mystery questions and bleeding constantly didn’t bother him.

                Stiles had forgotten the blood. “Yeah,” he muttered to the empty space Derek had left. “I’ll do that.”

 

**~.x.~**

 

The sign said ‘Closed,’ but the door was unlocked. Either Deaton wasn’t strict about his office hours, or he’d known Stiles was coming. Stiles wandered through the veterinary clinic until he found Deaton in his office filing paperwork. He ignored Stiles.

                “So, uh, about that stuff you won’t talk to me about,” Stiles said, fidgeting in the doorway like he hadn’t been through torture and murdered dozens of people with his bare hands. “I don’t suppose you’d give me Ms. Morrell’s number so I could ask her instead?” Marin Morrell had been Stiles’ and Derek’s primary therapist since she knew about the supernatural. She had also, apparently, been emissary to a pack that tried to recruit Scott and kill the rest of the werewolves in Beacon Hills while Haha, No held Stiles and Derek at one of Watchtower’s facilities. He figured it was reasonable that she’d skipped town even if she told everyone she was holding the bad guys back. Deaton kept saying she was coming back, but Stiles got the feeling he didn’t know when.

                “Your father is waiting on you at home. He called a few minutes ago.” Deaton spoke without looking at Stiles.

                “She just mentioned something about a talisman is all, and I kind of wanted to follow up on it, you know?”

                “Derek called too. There’s a bandage and Neosporin by the sink in the restroom. You can clean up on your way out.”

                “I also sort of wanted to know how much it’s going to hurt everyone when I try magic alone because no one is willing to teach me.”

                Deaton set down the files and stood. He looked Stiles in the eye. “I can’t teach you, Stiles. I maintain balance, and that’s not something I believe you’re capable of anymore.”

                Stiles winced.

                “I understand you have other concerns, but I do too. Maybe when this has passed, you’ll be ready.” He turned away and returned to his files.

                “If I upset your balance, I assume you’ll stop me,” Stiles said. It was a challenge, but Deaton refused to look at Stiles again.

                “Your father and Derek are waiting.”

                Stiles rubbed at the blood crusted on his ear where Allison had nicked him and stalked out of the clinic. He’d researched talismans and magic until he passed out at his desk every night for a week. Derek knew what he was doing but didn’t say anything, so maybe they were getting better at pretending they were still separate after all. Research didn’t help much when Stiles couldn’t judge how much of the information he found was accurate. Stiles could write a thesis on talismans, but he had no idea how to make or use a real one.

                He drove too fast and ran a few lights on the way home. The Jeep felt dull and weak, but Stiles didn’t know what he was comparing it to. Derek would tell him he was just emotional, but Stiles thought Peter might understand. Sometimes Peter understood Stiles better than Derek did, and that scared him. Derek was in his head, but Peter had been too, once. Stiles gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and swerved around a little old lady in a sedan to go to Peter’s apartment. His father and Derek could wait as long as they pleased because Stiles couldn’t find what he wanted in their comfort.

                Peter lived downtown in one of the larger cities near Beacon Hills. He never asked why when Stiles came to visit, though sometimes he looked happier to see him than others. Tonight Peter rolled his eyes and motioned for Stiles to enter.

                “Derek already texted me. You’ll have to drive faster next time.” Peter waved his hand at the kitchen, which was as close as he got anymore to offering Stiles a drink. Stiles could help himself if he got thirsty.

                “Do you know anything about magic?”

                “Stiles, I’m a werewolf. You’ll have to define ‘magic’ before I can begin to answer that because yes and also no.”

                “Talismans?”

                “Very little.”

                “But more than nothing?” Stiles tried on a grin.

                Peter rolled his eyes again. “They’re just something to channel power through. Raw magic is the force of nature, and very few humans have the capacity, much less the training, to harness even an iota of it. A lot of magic involves activating the latent, dormant power already present in an object, much the way you create a barrier with mountain ash. Talismans are different. You assign power to a talisman, and it pulls through raw magic and feeds it into your purpose.”

                “Like a filter.”

                Peter grimaced at being interrupted. He loved his speeches. “Sure, like a filter, but I don’t know how they’re made.”

                “Not even a little?”

                “No, not even a little.”

                “Ms. Morrell said I was using my expressions as a pseudo-talisman. Does that make any sense to you?”

                Peter shrugged.

                “Great, thanks.” Stiles turned to go.

                “Oh, and Derek says to wash your ear.”

                “Well, tell him Stiles says to fuck off.”

                Peter laughed as Stiles slammed the door too hard on his way out. Through the drive home, he became more and more agitated. He knew it was bleed-off from Derek, that _Stiles_ was annoyed but not surprised, so his plans hadn’t actually changed. Derek wasn’t surprised either. He’d just used up his cool in the forest and couldn’t hold himself back any longer. Stiles massaged his temple. Sharing his brain with Derek was exhausting. Derek thought the same of Stiles and smashed his fist against something as Stiles smashed his foot into the brakes because _holy fuck that was a car oh shit oh shit don’t hit it._ The other guy blared his horn, flipped Stiles the finger, and drove off. So not too bad a screw up. Just a little slip. Nothing bad happened. No one got hurt.

                Stiles pulled over and put the Jeep in park just in time to realize he couldn’t breathe. No one died this time. He was fine. His mouth worked as he struggled to pull air into his lungs, but only a thin wheeze of breath made it through. Haha, No was dead. He couldn’t take Stiles again. He couldn’t make Stiles hurt anyone again. His breath came rapid-fire. The lights of passing cars blurred with the darkness of his own. His forehead beat against the wheel. Stiles pulled back only to hunch forward again because _he couldn’t breathe._

                He stopped breathing altogether. Haha, No was dead. Stiles killed him. Stiles would kill anyone who hurt him, and no one could stop him. He held his breath. Cars drove by. Stiles wondered why reminding himself he was a killer was supposed to calm him down, but then he took a long, deep breath and the world made sense again. He rested his forehead against the steering wheel and just breathed. Derek hunched over the carpet of their bedroom with his forehead, shins, and clawed hands against the floor.

                “Goddamnit,” Stiles muttered. The whole point of distancing their minds had been to keep this from happening. They couldn’t watch each others’ backs if they always broke down together.

                After a few more breaths, Stiles put the Jeep into gear and drove home. He found Derek and his father sitting together in the living room waiting for him. Derek held his arms out, and Stiles melted into them.

                _He saw me,_ Derek thought. _He watched me have your panic attack._

Stiles eyed his father and hunched against Derek’s chest. His father watched. Stiles thought he should have been tense or angry, gripping at the chair arm and shouting at Stiles to sever his bond to Derek like he’d tried to sever their codependency. He only looked worn.

                _He knows, Stiles. What do we do?_

                _I don’t know._ This wasn’t a problem he could solve by lying or killing, so it wasn’t one Stiles understood. Maybe he would have once. He knew he must have, but the idea of facing down the Watchtower and their custom-made shapeshifters frightened Stiles less than lifting his gaze to meet his father’s and telling him exactly how screwed up he and Derek were.

                “Stiles,” his dad said, and his voice was as worn as the angle of his shoulders. “Please tell me how I can help.”

                Stiles gripped Derek’s shirt in his fists and finally looked his father in the eyes. “I don’t think you can.”

                When his father’s eyes closed slowly, Stiles realized that had been the answer his father expected of him. When his father let out a long, uneven breath that left his shoulders even more stooped than before, Stiles realized it wasn’t the one he should have given. He clenched the cotton of Derek’s shirt in his fist and watched his father cry.

 

**~.x.~**

 

Stiles winced just looking at the chair. This probably wouldn’t even work. He should go home and make a new plan, a better plan, a plan that could be salvaged if it failed, maybe a plan that involved letting his father help him like he’d offered. Whether this worked or not, Stiles would be stuck with it for the rest of his life. That might not be so long a time if he couldn’t find a new way to fight back. Stiles gripped his hands into fists so tight that his stubby fingernails dug into the skin of his palms. It wasn’t too late to go home and face the sad eyes his father had given him ever since he found Derek sharing Stiles’ panic attack. He sat down in the chair. It reminded him of sitting in Haha, No’s torture chair.

                “I, uh, might pass out,” he warned. “I don’t really like needles.”

                “You don’t like needles, and you’re having me tattoo your face?” The tattoo artist raised a pierced eyebrow.

                “I don’t like tattoos either. How ‘bout that.” When the artist hesitated, Stiles plunged on. “But I’m getting one. Right now. On my face, just like I said. I’ll get marked, you’ll get money, and we’ll both go on our ways.”

                “Whatever, dude. It’s your face. Lean back.”

                Stiles didn’t pass out, not even with the needle coming almost directly at his delicate, defenseless eyeball. Maybe he’d spent too much time with Haha, No for that, or maybe it helped knowing that Stiles had chosen this. It hurt, but not as much as he’d feared. He focused less on the pain and artist and more on his intent. He focused on talismans and magic and the way people looked at his face and stopped in their tracks. He focused on how he used his grin and laugh to win when he should have died. Stiles thought as hard as he could about this mark being his new Joker grin.

                With his thoughts so focused, he couldn’t hide them from Derek. Derek knew where Stiles was and what he was doing but didn’t burst through the door to stop him. Stiles doubted his father would be so accepting, but his father didn’t have a telepathic bond with Stiles to give this plan away before it was complete.

                Stiles hoped this worked.

                When it was done, the artist let Stiles study his new tattoo in a mirror before bandaging it and reminding him to care for his skin since he didn’t want an infection on his face. It sat on his cheekbone at the outer corner of his left eye. Stiles had chosen a spade, following a card theme set by his nickname. The tattoo artist had given the small spade character, exaggerating its arches just enough that it looked like art instead of a direct imprint from the corner of a playing card. The spade wasn’t large, but Stiles wouldn’t be able to hide it or pass it off as anything but a tattoo. He wondered briefly what the school would do if he went back, but Stiles wasn’t sure he cared to finish school, even if he could stay in town long enough to make it to classes. He winced imagining what his father would do.

                “It looks good,” he said instead.

                “I can tell you’re lying.”

                “I was trying to be polite since it’s what I asked for.”

                “Just don’t expect a discount for not liking it.” After a beat the artist added, “I hope it grows on you anyway.”

                Stiles paid and left, wondering if his dad would yell or collapse on the couch when he saw the tattoo. It made Stiles feel guilty. When he pressed against the bandage, the skin underneath was tender. Stiles wondered how long he should wait before trying it out.

                Stiles wandered away from the tattoo shop on foot. He couldn’t go home yet, not until he’d steeled himself to face his father. Maybe he could have warned him, but Stiles thought if anyone knew, they would have stopped him because they always thought they knew better than he did, especially his father. He’d backed off since letting Derek move in, but Stiles thought he owed the space more to exhaustion than respect.

                More paint had peeled off the park bench where he and Derek had first reunited. Stiles sat down and picked at it absently. He hadn’t been here since then, hadn’t thought about it. Stiles and Derek didn’t see therapists anymore. The only one they could really talk to had skipped town, and the rest weren’t worth the money Stiles’ father had been paying them. Maybe they would have been if they had all the information, but the most useful advice they could give was to see a therapist cleared for the “classified police information” Stiles’ father had used to explain away their secrets. Stiles thought he wouldn’t want to hear what Morrell had to say about him and Derek anyway. He leaned back against the bench and closed his eyes.

                When Stiles got home, his father noticed the bandage immediately. Derek widened his eyes to say he wouldn’t help Stiles out with this one and left the room. Stiles ground his teeth. Just because it had been three months didn’t mean they were safe. He had to find ways to defend himself and his loved ones, and if a little mark on his cheek was the price, he considered it light to the point of weightlessness.

                “What happened?”

                Stiles winced at his father’s concern. “I, uh...” He reached up and ripped the bandage away rather than explain.

                His father didn’t yell. He didn’t even look angry. He stared at it silently for nearly half a minute, then turned and walked away without a word. Stiles swallowed the defenses he’d prepared, but they went down chalky and bitter. Glass clinked in the kitchen as Stiles’ father poured himself a shot. Stiles waited long enough to hear the glass two more times before he charged to the bathroom to wash his tattoo. He’d been prepared to cover it with a generic ointment afterward but found one designed specifically for tattoos waiting for him on the counter with a grumpy face drawn on it in sharpie. Derek’s passive aggression was adorable.

                The bathroom mirror offered Stiles a more complete view than the handheld mirror he’d used before. He’d made his decision prepared to sacrifice his face in a way, to mar it with a permanent sort of grin instead of the temporary one he flashed. To be honest, he’d thought of the tattoo almost as a less extreme version of the scars Haha, No had tried to give him around his mouth before Cat stopped him.

                That wasn’t what he got.

                The mark was small but not delicate. It had presence in its sharp form but grace in its curves. The stark black ink stood out from his pale skin even more than any of his moles, but it somehow didn’t look out of place. Stiles turned his head a little to catch it at an angle. Maybe tattoos weren’t so bad. His face certainly didn’t look _normal,_ but it did look, well, hot. He traced the skin below the tattoo rather than pressing on it directly.

                “Stop admiring yourself and go apologize to your father before I start fixing that peeling section of tile by the back door because I will.”

                Stiles yelped. He hadn’t been paying attention, and now Derek stood directly behind him. Stiles’ mouth worked, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.

                “Yeah, it’s a first, I get it. Now go.”

                Stiles grumbled, but he dropped it. Derek worried about Stiles’ father more than Stiles did. Guilt welled in his chest and propelled Stiles toward where he’d left his father in the kitchen. He found him staring at a glass, swirling amber liquid in it. Stiles opened his mouth again without finding any words. He flinched, and the movement pulled at the sensitive skin of his new tattoo.

                “Did you know,” his father began with only a slight slur to his speech, “when you pulled that bandage off, I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to for a full eight seconds. I couldn’t even remember to be angry you’d gotten a tattoo on your face without asking me first because I couldn’t do anything at all.”

                “That’s what it’s designed to do,” Stiles said. “I think.”

                “You think.”

                “Well, I know, but I don’t know if it actually worked or if you just...”

                “You’ll have to ask your friends when you show it to them.” He downed his drink and poured another.

                “Dad, I’m sorry.”

                “It’s fine. You can go do whatever it is you do now.”

                “No, Dad, I really—”

                “Stiles,” his father cut him off, and Stiles choked back another explanation. “I don’t know if I can look at you now. Go away.”

                Stiles backed away from the kitchen until he stumbled and changed the motion into a turn so he could flee to his room. Derek waited for him there, already in bed feigning sleep. Stiles undressed with his hands shaking and climbed into bed pretending to believe Derek was asleep. Derek pretended not to notice Stiles was crying.

 

**~.x.~**

 

Allison and Lydia froze when they entered Stiles’ room. Stiles winced as they recovered. He’d only had the tattoo a matter of days, but he’d already gotten enough dirty looks from his friends to last a lifetime. Allison glared directly at his tattoo like looking at it longer would make her immune to its effects. Lydia chuckled nervously to herself.

                “I keep forgetting,” she said. “Well, not forgetting, but just...” She shook her head and sat next to Stiles, carefully looking out at the group and not at him.

                Stiles winced. “Sorry, guys. I’ll figure out how to turn it off eventually. Or wear a bandage after it’s healed, but right now it needs air.”

                Everyone reacted the same way. As soon as they saw the little spade below Stiles’ eye, they froze completely for several seconds, mentally and physically. His father refused to be in the same room as Stiles. Derek, thankfully, was immune. Stiles thought it related to the bond somehow. Less fortunately, it worked on literally everyone else who looked at the tattoo, so Stiles couldn’t go out in public just now. He wondered how many people he’d startled without realizing it after getting the mark and if the artist who gave it to him was immune for having created it.

                “No,” Derek said. “You have to learn to control it. Sometimes you’ll need it in the middle of a fight instead of the beginning.”

                Stiles nodded. Derek made it clear to Stiles that he didn’t approve, but otherwise he’d been nothing but supportive. Sometimes Derek made Stiles feel like a shitty person.

                Scott arrived last. He froze exactly like the others, but his eyes flashed red as he came out of it. Sometimes Stiles forgot how much his friends dealt with mostly without his help during all the time he’d spent either wounded or kidnapped or both. Scott’s eyes, proof of his status as a true alpha, always reminded Stiles how much he’d missed. The pack had been leaderless with Derek gone. Or, not leaderless so much as alpha-less. Somehow, Stiles kept forgetting anything outside of Haha, No’s schemes were real .

                No, it was more that _Stiles_ didn’t feel real.

                The pack had changed, but Stiles hadn’t changed with them. He’d followed some nearby but divergent path that intersected with theirs without fully melding into it. Derek set a hand on Stiles’ shoulder to ground him.

                Scott took the seat they’d left for him. In a way, he’d always been alpha of this pack, even when Derek thought he was in charge. Now Scott was alpha in truth, but less of a dictator than Derek had tried to be. Even though they were both alphas, Derek agreed to leave leadership to Scott almost immediately. He and Stiles already had too much to deal with.

                “Okay, Derek,” Scott said. “What’s up?”

                “Cat wants to join our pack,” Derek said. He wasn’t much good with preambles.

                “Wait, is this werewolf stuff? Because last I checked, I’m not a wolf.” Lydia arched an eyebrow.

                “I think the wolf stuff still affects you though,” Stiles pointed out. He didn’t understand why Derek wanted everyone here or why Cat hadn’t come herself. It would be as easy as leaning against Derek to slip into his thoughts to find out, but Stiles resisted.

                “Why didn’t she ask me herself?” Scott asked.

                “She’s one of The Watchtower’s targets and doesn’t want to risk drawing their focus here without permission, especially since they haven’t moved in on us yet.”

                “Why didn’t she stay with us before?”

                “She was afraid, so she ran. Now she thinks we may be her best hope,” Derek said. There was something more. Stiles didn’t pry for what.

                “Best hope for what?”

                Derek leaned forward. “For surviving.”

                “And why did you want to ask me with an audience?”

                Derek leaned back.

                Allison answered for him, “Like Stiles said, this affects us too.”

                Scott nodded. “I don’t want to turn anyone away who needs my help, and especially not someone who has helped us already.” Most of the others nodded. Peter rolled his eyes. Scott studied the room briefly before turning back to Derek. “She’s welcome with us.” His eyes flashed again as they passed over Stiles’ tattoo. He blinked the glow away and left. Stiles wanted to scratch at his face.

                “Was that really all you wanted us here for?” Lydia made it clear Derek had just wasted her time.

                “No,” he said, with a glance at Stiles. The others followed his gaze, and each flinched. “I also wanted to see how long it takes to reset.”

                Lydia stormed out with Allison on her heels. Isaac looked like he wanted to say something, but he bit his tongue, shook his head, and followed the girls out. No one wanted to stay in a room with Stiles’ tattoo long, so he quickly found himself alone with Derek.

                “That was kind of a dick move,” Stiles pointed out.

                “I’m not the one with the disarming face.”

                “Oh, I’d say you’re disarmingly handsome.”

                “Nope.”

                “What? Why nope?” When Derek ignored him, Stiles poked his arm. “Hey, why nope?”

                “We’re in the middle of fighting. You can’t just flirt with me and expect it to go away.”

                “How long have we been fighting?”

                “I don’t really know.”

                Stiles chewed at his lip. “Can we make up?”

                “Not yet.”

                “Why not?”

                Derek shook his head, and Stiles resisted the urge to pull the answer from his head. Instead, he left the room. If they had to be fighting, he might as well act like it. When he passed by the office, he saw his father at his desk with a hand blocking his line of sight to the door. He must have heard Stiles coming. Stiles’ eye twitched above the tattoo, and his hands shook as he fumbled his way from the house. A neighbor glanced Stiles’ way to say hello and froze. Stiles swallowed something bitter and climbed into his Jeep.

 

**~.x.~**

 

It had been three days since Stiles left home. No one had come looking for him. He laughed into the empty wood because no one could stand the sight of him. Literally. This was exactly what he wanted. He reached a hand toward the tattoo. He’d sneaked into public restrooms to clean it, but he didn’t think he was supposed to be living in the woods with a healing tattoo. It was supposed to take weeks to get better, but it was already almost healed. That was the bond, Stiles thought. He’d never had time to notice how quickly he recovered from his injuries because there had always been so much going on, even all the way back to the night they killed Peter. Stiles was hyper-aware of the tattoo though, desperate for it to heal perfectly to keep its power even though everyone hated him for its effect on them.

                Stiles studied the moss on the tree above his head and tried to remember which side moss grew on. Was it north? He thought it might be north. He glanced over and noted the moss wrapping entirely around the trunk of the tree beside the one he stretched on the ground beneath. He clenched his jaw. Excessive moss was how they spotted ambushes outside of Haha, No’s training facility. Stiles rolled and scrambled to his feet to bolt the other direction. Someone tackled him from behind. Stiles groaned because he couldn’t bring himself to be surprised. He wondered if they’d seen his face already.

                “How did you find us?” It was a male voice, stern but smooth. He shoved Stiles’ face against the ground to growl in his ear.

                “Well, I mean, there’s only so much forest out here.” Stiles reached his mind toward Derek to let him know he was in trouble, probably nothing Stiles couldn’t handle, but better safe than sorry. Instead of Derek, Stiles ran into something like a wall. He felt the panic start and shoved it down. There would be time to worry later. For now, Stiles needed to find a way to take out the man on his back and whoever had accompanied him.

                “When are you due to report in?”

                Stiles laughed. He didn’t know yet if this was a human or a werewolf, just that he was physically strong enough to hold Stiles down. If he was a wolf, or had a wolf partner nearby, he would be able to hear Stiles’ lies, but Stiles couldn’t admit no one was expecting him any time soon.

                The man above Stiles tensed at the sound of his laughter. “You can’t scare me with your little tricks, Joker.” He’d used the name. That was always a bad sign.

                “Then what can I scare you with?”

                “Answer the question.”

                “I don’t think I’m scared of you either, to be honest,” Stiles said.

                “I don’t know what he’s done to make _you_ work for him, but I know you can’t possibly be loyal to him.”

                “Now I’m confused.”

                The man growled in Stiles’ ear, and the vibration ran through his body. Definitely a werewolf. “Give up Sorokin or give up your ear. It’s your choice, Joker.” He pressed cold steel against Stiles’ ear.

                “Who the fuck is Sorokin?”

                “Dimitri Sorokin, the scientist, the one you helped escape from the training facility where he developed the Rook Project.”

                “Okay, parts of that make sense, except that I killed that fucker.” Peter had told them Haha, No’s name was Dimitri, but Stiles had more taken the scientist captive than helped him escape. He’d been under the impression that Haha, No was both in charge of that facility and charging eagerly ahead with his twisted experiments.

                The man over Stiles grunted but pulled the knife away from his ear. “I can tell you think you’re telling the truth, but our intel clearly doesn’t line up.”

                “You think?”

                “You’re not working for Sorokin or the Watchtower?”

                “Of fucking course not.”

                “My partner is a sniper with a rifle aimed at you and twelve years of experience that says she’s not going to miss, so when I let you go, don’t run again.”

                Stiles sighed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

                Then man pulled his weight off of Stiles’ back, and Stiles rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows. His maybe-captor had dark skin and hair except for the tips, which he’d bleached and dyed red. Tattoos covered the visible skin on his arms and neck, but Stiles doubted they were magic like his lonely little spade. The man’s clothes looked more like light armor than anything else, and he wore several knives and a handgun at his belt.

                “It looks like we might not be enemies,” the man began, “but I want to make it clear that this is an interrogation. I’m sorry, Joker, but I need to know what you know.” Stiles wanted to roll his eyes again; the man seemed startlingly sincere. “You can call me Rider.”

                “What do you ride?”

                “Nothing. That’s my name.”

                This time Stiles did roll his eyes. “I didn’t realize we were friends enough to share actual names.”

                “You were captured for the gladiator facility, correct? Along with Derek Hale?”

                Stiles nodded stiffly. He hadn’t realized Rider knew their real names. Did he know Stiles’ name too?

                “I need you to answer me aloud.” Rider probably meant to accustom himself to the sound of Stiles’ truths, like the pre-test set up for a polygraph.

                “Yes, Derek and I were taken to the arena.”

                “Your pack was the group that stormed it?”

                “Yeah, but someone else burned it.”

                “Standard procedure to eliminate evidence on a compromised base,” Rider explained. “You were more recently at the training camp where Sorokin went missing from?”

                “Also yes.” Stiles wondered how long Rider would keep asking questions he clearly knew the answers to. Stiles wasn’t ready to share actual secrets with the guy.

                “Why did you take him if not to help him get out?”

                “Hostage. We didn’t realize he was a prisoner as well.”

                Rider looked confused. “You didn’t notice the scars?” Haha, No had kept his scars hidden until Peter forced him to show them off. Even then, Stiles got the feeling he’d aligned himself with the Watchtower because they bribed him with a cure for the kanima scales creeping alongside the scars, not because he couldn’t leave.

                “Not at first, no.”

                “And you still killed him after?”

                “Well, you see, I had reason to hate his fucking guts.”

                Rider sighed. “Are you _sure_ you killed him?”

                “I rammed a knife into his throat several times. It wasn’t clean or pretty, but I’d call it effective. Why do you think he’s alive?”

                “We were in contact with Sorokin. He acted as our mole within the Watchtower, and in return we would eventually get him out. For a while, we believed he was dead, but last week we received a communication with his identification code.”

                “Last week?”

                “Only Sorokin and myself knew that code. We set a mental block on him to prevent him from ever revealing it to another person, so only Sorokin himself could have sent that message.”

                There was one other person who could know it because he learned all of Haha, No’s secrets after Stiles ordered them to bond. Peter Hale. Stiles mouth went dry. “What did it say?” Stiles liked Peter and thought they might even be friends, but he didn’t _trust_ Peter. He would have his own agenda, and Stiles wasn’t sure how much the pack’s wellbeing factored into Peter’s plans, if at all.

                Rider hesitated, clearly unsure whether he should share with Stiles. “Just two words: ‘Project Remix.’”

                “Okay, yeah, that clears up all of nothing.”

                “It doesn’t match up to any known Watchtower operation. We think it’s what he started based on studying you.”

                “I thought he was failing.”

                “You’re special, Joker, but not that special. Sorokin figured you out.”

                “You said you _think_ it’s based on me.”

                “Well, my source hasn’t answered back, hence my visit to your exciting little town.”

                “Why the hell would he stay here even if I hadn’t killed him?”

                “Because you either saved him or took him captive. Stop pretending to be dense.”

                “Who exactly are you to be asking me this again?”

                “Rider.”

                Stiles raised an eyebrow. They both knew that wasn’t what he meant.

                “You don’t think something like The Watchtower could exist without making enemies, do you?” Rider asked.

                “How powerful an enemy would you say you are?”

                Rider smiled softly. “Let’s not force you to find out.”

                “Whatever. I still say I killed him, so you can skip town and look for your dead guy elsewhere.”

                “At least hear my pitch before you try to kick me out.”

                “I’m not working for you.” Stiles gritted his teeth.

                “Sorokin’s research was about strengthening and manipulating the bond, but ours is on tempering and balancing it. We know what he did to you and Derek, and we can help you control it. I’m sure you noticed when we blocked you from him. When was the last time you were able to be only yourself, Stiles?” So he did know Stiles’ name. What was the point of a codename if it didn’t protect his secret identity?

                Stiles stood. “I’m going to leave now, and you’re never going to speak to me again.”

                “You want to take them out as much as we do. You think we haven’t noticed the hunter movement through Beacon Hills? We could use allies like that. Together we might actually be able to take The Watchtower out instead of just inconveniencing them every once in a while.”

                “I’m not working with the hunters.” Stiles said it slowly and clearly so Rider would know it was true. “I don’t care about your war, and I don’t want your ‘help.’ So get the fuck out of my town before I cripple your little army by killing you.” He grinned, and Rider froze as if stunned. Stiles turned and walked calmly until he thought the trees had obscured the line of fire between him and Rider’s sniper. Then he ran as fast as he could to where he’d left the Jeep and drove home. The wall between him and Derek fell, and Stiles felt Derek’s relief echo his own.

                _Shit went down,_ Stiles told him. _I’ll explain when I get there._

 

**~.x.~**

 

“So you disappear into the woods for a few days and accidentally learn to control your magic tattoo by doing absolutely nothing and also meet someone who just happens to know everything about the guy who kidnapped you?” Allison’s tone caught somewhere between confusion and sarcasm. She kept her face straight as she leaned against the cement-and-brick wall of Deaton’s clinic. Beside her, Isaac raised the sassy eyebrow Allison held back.

                “I think the tattoo just needed time to heal,” Stiles muttered. No one had freaked out over his face unless he wanted them to since he returned, though it would take some practice to separate when he wanted them to and when he wanted them to but probably shouldn’t be stunning them.

                “Stiles, tattoos take several weeks to heal. Yours has had less than one,” Lydia said.

                “I, um, magical werewolf bond healing powers activate?”

                Derek grunted, but Stiles heard it as a laugh. Everyone else kept glaring at him.

                “What about Rider?” Scott asked. He was in the chair while the others, even Deaton, stood. Stiles wondered if Scott had planned it as a display of power before he remembered that Scott would never think of that. Someone else had left the chair for him, probably Deaton himself. Stiles sent Deaton a smirk and got only a steady, emotionless stare in return. “Stiles, this is serious,” Scott added when Stiles didn’t respond.

                “I think Peter contacted them,” Stiles said. The others shared their significant glances. None of them liked or trusted Peter, and Scott had argued against it when Stiles invited Peter to the little get-together at Deaton’s. Not that Peter was likely to show, and if he did, he would do his best to listen in without being noticed.

                Scott asked, “How? And how did Peter even know they existed? You said Rider was asking about the scientist, but you didn’t mention Peter at all. Why?”

                “Well, I told you what Rider said, and Rider didn’t say anything about Peter.”

                “Stiles, why didn’t you tell us?” Scott’s eyes flashed.

                Stiles flashed his grin and kept it frozen on his face while the tattoo’s stunning effect wore off of Scott. “I did tell you,” he said. “Just now. I didn’t say it sooner because I was waiting for Peter. At this point he’s either not coming or hidden somewhere listening to us. And before you ask, I waited for Peter because he is my friend and deserved at least that little consideration.”             

                Lydia said, “I don’t know what lies Peter’s told you to convin—”

                “No,” Stiles cut her off but didn’t use his talisman against her. “I know he’s kind of evil, but he used to be _a part of my soul_.”

                Lydia glowered at him but skipped the ‘remember what he did to me’ speech even though Stiles deserved it.

                “We’re your friends, too,” Scott said. The betrayal in his eyes made Stiles feel guilty, just like having Derek tell him to be decent to his father did.

                Stiles sighed. “And you’ll note that I _am_ telling you that I suspect my other, somewhat more evil friend of drawing a new mysterious group’s attention to us.”

                “Do you think he really wants an alliance to take out the Watchtower?” Allison asked.

                “Yeah, but I don’t know how morally outstanding Rider and his friends are or how they treat their allies when the enemies are down, assuming you could take the enemy down. All I know is he plans to tell Haha, No that they don’t get to stop being friends, which strikes me as a little iffy to be honest.”

                Lydia said, “If he wants an alliance with the hunters, shouldn’t we let them decide if he’s worth the risk or not?”

                “Except hunters have a habit of killing werewolves regardless of alliances,” Derek said.

                “I don’t see how that hurts us,” Lydia replied, eyebrows raised. “I don’t have any stake in Rider and his friends making it past this, and it might be the answer to Rider’s possibly inevitable betrayal anyway.”

                Derek shrugged.

                “Should I tell my dad?” Allison asked. When she told him about the Watchtower, Chris Argent organized the hunter army circulating through Beacon Hills, but he’d also sworn her to secrecy. The Argents had a unique relationship with the local pack. Most hunters wanted nothing to do with werewolves unless it was killing them.

                Scott stood. “We already handed the war off to the hunters when we decided to tell them about the Watchtower in the first place. If there’s something, or someone, they could use to win, then we shouldn’t keep it from them. Tell your dad. If they want to meet with Rider, I’m sure Stiles or Peter could find a way to arrange a meeting.” The way he said Stiles’ name with the same dark undertone he used for Peter’s made Stiles flinch. He’d need more than a few days and a Call of Duty match to get Scott to forgive him this time.

                Scott left without another word, and Isaac, who hadn’t said a word to begin with that Stiles could remember, followed him out after a too-long glance at Allison. When Stiles turned to go, Derek took hold of his arm and leveled a flat stare at the girls. Lydia eventually rolled her eyes and strutted from the room with Allison in tow.

                Deaton spoke into the silence Stiles left him, “The ancient Celts would paint their faces with woad before going to battle. It intimidated their enemies, weakening their resolve. In some cases, the Celts’ woad was so strong they didn’t see the need for armor because they were already protected by their opponents’ fear.”

                Stiles let Deaton’s comments hang over them, waiting until he got to the point rather than rising to the bait.

                “I admit,” Deaton said at last, “I thought you were bluffing. When Derek warned me that you weren’t, I still thought you would fail.”

                “Are you here to stop me now?” Stiles clenched his teeth. He had no doubt that Deaton could guard himself against the talisman somehow.

                “No. You haven’t upset the balance, so I don’t have to stop you. Yet.”

                Beside Stiles, Derek’s eyes flashed red. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him.”

                “And I won’t, but Stiles might hurt himself. I’m sure you know what a sacrifice is.” He meant ritual sacrifice. Along with a pack of alphas, Stiles’ friends had face a darach, a dark druid, without him. The darach had sacrificed innocent people to make herself strong enough to kill the alpha pack, but that power made her strong enough to face the Beacon Hills pack, too. If Stiles’ dad hadn’t learned about werewolves after Stiles was taken, they might never have stopped the darach at all. Deaton continued, “The sacrifice is a transaction; you give something up and gain something else. Not all sacrifices have to be fatal. The tattoo is a wound, a minor form of sacrifice, but power can be a slippery slope, Stiles. At what point will the sacrifice be too much?”

                “I guess that depends on what I expect to gain from it,” Stiles said.

                “I guess so,” Deaton agreed. He motioned for Stiles and Derek to leave.

 

**~.x.~**

 

Cat looked different clean. When they first met in the Freezer, she’d been washed, but otherwise Stiles always saw her covered in dirt or blood or both. Her hair was still wild and curly, but it smelled like flowery shampoo, and the shirt and jeans she’d borrowed from Lydia were clean even if they didn’t quite fit. She kept tugging at the hem of the shirt. Stiles had never seen her nervous before.

                “It’s okay,” Scott assured her. They had gathered at Scott’s to welcome her to the pack, not to interrogate or test her.

                She nodded, but her eyes kept darting to Allison with exactly the sort of panic a scared werewolf might eye a hunter.

                “She’s pack, too,” Scott said, and Stiles wondered if Allison was still bound to him even though they’d broken up. She and Isaac kept giving each other looks that they probably thought were subtle, but did that mean her bond had shifted to him or that Scott was going to feel it when they finally got to making out even though he wouldn’t be part of it? Then again, Scott and Allison had a passive bond, not an active one like Stiles and Derek’s, so maybe Scott wouldn’t feel anything at all. Maybe the bond stayed until they stopped caring about each other, a moment Stiles was sure would never come.

                Cat nodded, looking around the room at the others. Eventually, she settled her gaze on Stiles. “What did you do to your face, anyway?”

                Derek snorted, so Stiles punched his arm.

                “It’s a magic tattoo,” Stiles says. “It does magic.”

                “I forgot how sociable and well-spoken you were.”

                “It’s a stunning talisman. It makes people not move for a few seconds.”

                Cat smiled, which wouldn’t have been strange except that it looked like a real smile. Her eyes lit up, and it made her look closer to Derek’s age even though Stiles had assumed she was nearer thirty.

                “Do you have somewhere to live?” Scott asked like Stiles’ tattoo had never come up. Most of the pack had taken to ignoring it by this point.

                Cat shrugged. “I’m not picky.”

                Scott winced. “Are you saying the way Derek squats in any abandoned structure he can find is _normal_ for werewolves?”

                “Hey,” Derek muttered.

                “No, I’m saying I’m personally used to being homeless and on the run,” Cat said.

                “I’m staying in a house right now,” Derek continued. “We have running water and family dinners.” _Well, we used to have family dinners,_ Derek added for Stiles, _until my boyfriend alienated his father so they can’t be in the same room together anymore._ It ruined the joke of Derek’s public comment, and Stiles choked on what would have been laughter.

                _Is that why we’re fighting?_

_We’re fighting for a lot of reasons._

_You know that TV plotline where the girl is emotionally competent and complex and all this stuff is going on that the boy doesn’t understand because he’s dumb and always wrong? I feel like the boy right now._

Derek rolled his eyes. Scott and Cat were talking about something.

                _Come on, Derek. If you tell me what I did wrong, I can try to make it right._

_No you can’t._

_Why?_

_Because he broke you too well._

Stiles scowled and wished his talisman worked on Derek. _I’m not broken._ Not more than Derek was, anyway.

                _If you’re not broken, then why don’t you mind that you’re fighting with everyone you know? Why am I the only one you want to make things right with?_

_I’m not—_

                Derek strangled the thought before Stiles could finish it. All of Stiles’ friends were angry at him, except maybe Peter because he wasn’t invested enough to mind Stiles lashing out at him. Even Scott could barely be civil around Stiles, and they had been best friends for years. The excuses came to mind next. Stiles had been tortured. He hadn’t chosen to be who he was now, but that didn’t mean he could change what happened. His friends should be more understanding. It wasn’t the job of the victim to make things right. It wasn’t Stiles’ fault Haha, No ruined him.

                _You’re friends now, aren’t you?_ Stiles asked because while Stiles kept breaking things, Derek had started fixing them.

                _They’re worried about you._

Stiles wondered if this was how Derek used to feel. Stiles used to be everyone’s friend while Derek pushed them all away. Now they’d switched places, and Stiles hadn’t even noticed.

                _Are you saying we’re going to be fighting until I make up with all of them?_ Stiles asked.

                _No, we’re going to be fighting until you stop wanting to._

_You spend a lot more time in my head than I spend in yours, don’t you?_

_It’s harder for me to pull back than it is for you._

Before Stiles could get defensive, Derek pulled him in and showed how hard they both worked to separate their minds. It was harder for Derek. Stiles couldn’t argue against feeling both of their efforts and knowing that Derek worked harder and failed more. It was why Derek had Stiles’ panic attacks instead of the other way around.

                _That’s why you’ve been acting so weird,_ Stiles realized. _Because you’ve been acting for me._ Protecting Stiles’ dad, keeping in touch with Stiles’ friends, and even forcing a fight when Stiles tried to act like everything was alright had all been things Stiles lied to himself about, so Derek took care of them for him. _Why does it feel like the more time passes, the more I’m the one who won’t get better?_

_Stiles, I don’t have my own life. I’m living yours. It feels like you’re the one not getting better because you’re a selfish asshole who can’t be bothered to have empathy for someone whose emotions you literally feel as your own._

Stiles winced. He didn’t have to admit defeat because Derek could feel it, but Stiles didn’t deserve the easy way out of this. _Sorry._ Derek raised an eyebrow. He wanted Stiles to say the rest. _I’ve been a selfish asshole and ignored you and your feelings and everything you’re doing for me and that you need me to do them for you too._

“If you two are done staring soulfully into each others’ eyes, we’ve got company,” Scott said.

                A wall slammed down between Stiles and Derek as the door burst inward. Rider stalked through the doorway scowling, eyes glowing blue, claws and fangs ready. Derek, Scott, and Cat answered his threat with growls and typical werewolf posturing. Stiles winked at Rider and activated his tattoo. As Rider froze, Stiles dropped to the ground. Rider’s partner had seen Stiles’ trick before, and he didn’t expect to catch her off-guard and escape this time. A dart flew over Stiles and bounced harmlessly off the wall as Stiles rolled. He adjusted his direction to escape her line of sight now that her shot gave her position away.

                A dart meant they wanted to incapacitate Stiles without killing him. Maybe they even intended to ignore the lesson the entire world should have learned from Haha, No’s mistakes and kidnap Stiles. Stiles crouched in the corner away from the windows. Cat had taken Rider hostage against the sniper exactly as she’d once taken Haha, No hostage against his soldiers. Scott had calmed himself, though his eyes continued to glow red, and seemed to be waiting for Rider to recover from Stiles’ attack. Derek shoved himself into the corner with Stiles and checked him mentally for wounds.

                “We found Sorokin’s grave,” Rider said. “Who was it?”

                “Well, _I_ killed him, so do you mean who helped clean up?”

                “WHO BONDED HIM?” Rider screamed, eyes wide with... terror.

                “One, calm down, dude, geeze. The shithead’s dead,” Stiles said. “Two, if you’re worried about your secrets getting out, I think I’d have them by now if I was getting them. Three, what the ever-living fuck made you think you could come in here and make demands of me?”

                Rider gritted his teeth and visibly took control of himself. “You don’t get it, do you? All your supposed insight into Sorokin’s plans, and you don’t even realize what you’ve done.”

                “Wow, cryptic non-answers, just what I always wanted.”

                “We found his grave, Joker, and it was empty. You might have killed him, but Dimitri Sorokin didn’t stay dead.”

                Derek screamed. Stiles couldn’t tell if it was out loud or just in his head. This must be what his tattoo made people feel. No wonder they hated him. Stiles came to himself on his knees, staring at his own hands where they clenched into trembling fists. He had killed Haha, No. He was supposed to be safe now, but Stiles would never be safe again. He had forced Peter to bond Haha, No because the bond would become what he needed and give Peter information to keep them all alive and free. Haha, No had bonded Peter knowing he was going to be killed, and the bond became what _he_ needed too. Stiles retched over the hardwood flooring his fists couldn’t grip. Haha, No was alive.


	2. Song

Peter’s apartment was empty. Stiles hadn’t expected Peter to stick around after reviving Haha, No, but part of him had hoped he’d find Peter tied up in a closet so he could believe his friend wasn’t really working with his enemy. Peter’s closets were empty of all but clothes, linens, and a small box with some old, mostly-burned photographs of what must have been his family. Derek refused to look at or think about them.

                “You still think Peter’s your friend?” Scott asked.

                “I never said he was a good friend.” If things had worked out differently, Peter could have been Stiles’ Derek. The thought made Derek more than a little nauseous, but Stiles had decided a long time ago it wouldn’t help to lie to himself about Peter. Maybe his life would be in fewer pieces if he could extend the practice to the rest of his relationships.

                “Some of the experiments were about the human controlling the wolf. Maybe Peter didn’t choose this,” Cat said. She didn’t sound convinced. Stiles hadn’t thought her the kind of person to offer empty platitudes.

                “No, I chose it for him when I forced them to bond.”

                Rider raised an eyebrow. It was a judging kind of eyebrow.

                “Shut your face.” Stiles scowled and realized only after Rider had frozen that he activated his talisman.

                _Stiles,_ Derek thought. Normally he charged right into a thought, not needing to waste time pulling Stiles’ thoughts to him by saying his name. Living in Stiles’ head meant he always had Stiles’ attention. Stiles turned toward him. Derek stood in the doorway to Peter’s bedroom.

                _Did you find something?_

Derek shrugged. Stiles leaned closer mentally and caught a trace of something bitter. Whatever Derek had found would hurt Stiles, and he _wanted_ to hurt Stiles almost as much as he wanted to protect him.

                _Spit it out, Derek._

A you-asked-for-it grin spread over Derek’s face as he thought, _They’re fucking._ He sent Stiles the scent traces he’d found, just in case he didn’t get it or believe it.

                Of course they were sleeping together. That was what Haha, No made partners into, wasn’t it? Stiles bit his lip but couldn’t think of a way this would help him track them down and re-kill Haha, No. His hands clenched into fists, relaxed forcibly, clenched tight again. Peter could fuck whoever the hell he wanted.

                God, Derek was bitter. He sauntered over to Stiles, put an arm over his shoulders, and channeled waves of smugness through the bond. Stiles deserved to be hurt by Peter’s betrayal because every time he thought about Peter, he betrayed Derek.

                _No, I don’t._ He didn’t think about Peter because he wanted him. If Stiles thought of himself as a monster now, what would he be if he’d stayed bound to Peter? Stiles had no doubt they’d have fought and survived together, but he doubted they’d have fallen in love the way Stiles and Derek had. They would have had sex, no doubt, but it wouldn’t be more than that. And he was pretty sure their craziness would feed through an infinite murder loop via the bond.

                _So you’re trying to say you’re not jealous because you’re better off with me?_ Derek asked.

                _I’m not trying to say anything._ Stiles shrugged out from under Derek’s arm. _And I’m not jealous._ Stiles winced as he thought it because he _was_ jealous. He knew it. Derek knew it. Hell, even Scott, Cat, and Rider probably knew it. They all had werewolf super senses to help.

                “I don’t think we’re gonna find anything here,” Scott said.

                Stiles turned to ask him what exactly he thought they should do since they had no other plans, but Peter’s laptop caught his eye before he said anything. It sat on his desk. “Peter used to hide that thing,” he said, pointing to the definitely not hidden laptop. “He was so paranoid he kept it under a stair in his old house.”

                “You think it means something?” Scott asked.

                “No, I mentioned it because I have an acute phobia of readily available portable technology. Yes, I think it means something.” Stiles stalked to the desk and booted the laptop.

                _I thought knowing you were being an ass might make you want to stop,_ Derek thought. Stiles grimaced.

                The wallpaper on Peter’s laptop was a maroon field with two rooks on it, one black and one white. There were only two icons. When Stiles clicked the first, it opened a text document that said, “Watch his little ego video and then call me.”

                The second icon opened a video file. Haha, No grinned at Stiles from the computer screen as he gave a little wave. “I hope you didn’t expect me to stay dead,” he said. The others gathered around Stiles to stare at the laptop. “I created the bond as you know it, so I think I know better than you how to use it. And dear, sweet Peter already knew a little about returning from the dead. Even better,” he shrugged out of his jacket. Underneath he wore a sleeveless shirt that showed off the smooth skin of his arms. Staring at skin that should have born scars and scales, Stiles realized the scars had gone from Haha, No’s face too. “I’ve been healed. So I guess I should thank you by not killing you. I’ve got bigger plans than some kid named after a cartoon, and I suggest you stay the fuck out of my way.” Haha, No reached forward with a laugh and turned off the camera.

                “Wow, he is a really cliché kind of villain, isn’t he?” Cat said.

                “What kind of plans do you think he has?” Scott asked, obviously expecting Stiles to answer. The others stared at Stiles expectantly.

                “I don’t know. Revenge maybe?” Stiles said.

                “He hated Watchtower,” Rider agreed. “Maybe even more than he hated you.”

                “Whatever,” Stiles said, tired of everyone watching him, “I’m calling Peter.”

                “What?” _Don’t_ call _him, Stiles._ Derek spoke and thought both simultaneously. _You don’t know Peter’s not working with him._

                “Yeah, I know he _is_ working with him, just not how willingly, which means I don’t know how willingly he’ll help _me_.” Stiles pulled his cell phone from his pocket and noted that no one stopped him even though he was the only one in the room without super strength.

                The phone rang only twice before Peter answered. “Stiles.”

                “Peter.”

                “Stiles.”

                “Oh, don’t you fucking dare. What’s going on?”

                “Am I on speaker?”

                Stiles rolled his eyes. “No, but everyone here is a werewolf, so you don’t exactly need to be.”

                “Of course they are.” Peter sounded resigned. “What happened is I have a new appreciation for what I put your friend Lydia through, and even though my entire experience was with Dimitri, I can’t stop thinking about how much I utterly hate the Watchtower with every fiber of my being. I get the strangest feeling that he may have the upper hand, and I don’t like it.”

                “Oh, you poor dear,” Stiles deadpanned.

                “He’s contacting as many of the Watchtower’s enemies as he can, trying to work up an assault. Since he doesn’t need their cure anymore, all he wants is lots and lots of corpses. He meant what he said about leaving you alone, but we know you won’t leave him alone.”

                “Speaking of, where are you?”

                “No, let’s not talk about that just yet. I’m busy spilling my guts here.”

                “Why are you telling me so much?”

                “Because he asked me to. Seemed giddy about it, to be honest. Any idea why that would be?”

                “You’re the one in his head, Peter.”

                “Not really. I got what I needed before, so now it’s his turn. I don’t think I’ll have control again until the Watchtower has fallen.”

                “Is he controlling you?” That was it, the one thing that would determine whether he could forgive Peter, whether he should.

                “Can you believe me if I answer that right now?”

                Stiles sighed. “No.” If Haha, No was in control, he could make Peter say whatever he wanted. Stiles bit his lip, waiting for Peter to say something more. When Peter didn’t, Stiles said, “Was there anything else he wanted you to tell me?”

                “Watchtower made him, but _he_ made you. He was the genius behind everything, the one who learned to manipulate the bond itself, not just the partners using it. Blah blah, feed his ego, blah. What he wants to say but hasn’t is that if one of you had been a werewolf, you’d make great partners. You’re his forever monster, and he’s so proud of you; but you should try killing a few more of his enemies now and then. That’d be great.”

                “Are you serious right now?”

                “You don’t have all the information, but you never have. Didn’t you wonder how you got everything figured out so easily? Do you have any idea how lost and confused their usual recruits were? You understand how he thinks. I can’t tell you where we are, but, Stiles, I shouldn’t need to. And when you get here, don’t kill me. I’d have to feel bad for what I did coming back this time, and guilt is such a grimy feeling, isn’t it?” Peter hung up.

                “What the hell was all that?” Cat asked.

                Stiles stared at his phone. “Suspiciously out of character is what. For both of them.”

                Rider said, “He said Sorokin was contacting others. Any idea who that would be?”

                Stiles shook his head.

                “We have to find them,” Scott said. “They’re dangerous, and both of them will use and kill other people for their own ends.”

                “Yeah, just think of what they’ll manage together,” Stiles muttered.

                “He said you can find them, so where would they be?” Scott asked.

                “I don’t know. We can try places like the warehouse where I killed him or Peter’s old apartment, but I doubt they’d have stayed nearby. I don’t know enough about his past to know—” Stiles froze because he _did_ know something about Haha, No’s past. He knew enough about Haha, No’s personality to know he hated failure and wasn’t a sentimentalist to begin with, but if he expected Stiles to be able to find him... “The arena,” Stiles choked out. “He’s trying to lure us to the arena.”

                “For a trap?” Rider asked.

                “No, for a picnic.”

                “Stiles,” Derek said aloud instead of in his head. “He’s not luring you to his past. He luring you to yours.”

                Stiles winced. “Peter said he wants me to take out his enemies, but I’m not sure what he expects me to accomplish against a massive evil organization.”

                “The same thing you accomplished against him.” Derek said it like it was obvious, like Stiles alone should easily destroy a huge, unknown entity in a single go.

                Stiles wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he turned to leave the apartment. He needed to change and grab some kind of weapon before he went hunting for... he wasn’t sure if Haha, No was his arch nemesis or his captor or his tormentor. He was his something, anyway.

 

**~.x.~**

 

Stiles doubted he’d be able to keep hold of a backpack, but he still had pockets and sleeves. He concealed as many knives as he could and strapped another in plain sight on his belt. There were granola bars in the kitchen, and he shoved a few in one jacket pocket and a bottle of water in the other. After that, he wasn’t sure what else to take. Medicine maybe? Bandages? He didn’t generally have a chance to plan these things.

                His father stopped in the doorway while Stiles was trying to figure out where best to stash antibiotic ointment so he wouldn’t crush it fighting. “You’re leaving,” he said.

                “Yeah.”

                “Were you going to say anything?”

                “No.” Stiles realized the ointment was designed for small cuts and burns, which he wouldn’t bother to treat anyway. He shoved it back in the medicine cabinet and grabbed a roll of bandages instead.

                “Stiles, you can’t go.”

                “I kind of think I can,” Stiles said.

                “It’s a trap, and it’s going to get you killed.”  
                Stiles shrugged. He couldn’t sit back and do nothing, so he was going whether his father wanted him to or not.

                His dad took Stiles by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eye for the first time since Stiles created his talisman. “I can’t lose you again, Son.”

                “What if you could get me back? The way I’m supposed to be.” Stiles read the heartbreak in his father’s eyes but not what it meant. “Rider says that if I help, they can fix the bond between me and Derek, make it work the way it’s supposed to.”

                “I’d rather have you alive than dying chasing some idea of how you think you’re supposed to be.”

                “It’s not an idea. It’s a fact. Derek and I, we’re broken. Dimitri Sorokin broke us, and now we have a way to undo it so I can go back to being your son.”

                His dad closed his eyes, shaking his head. “You never stopped being my son.”

                _That’s not what Derek says._ Stiles wasn’t sure when working with Rider started to sound like a good idea. He thought it might have been about the time what Rider wanted from him became the same thing Peter wanted from him. _I can’t just hide here,_ Stiles thought. _I can’t._ He didn’t think about _why_ he couldn’t though.

                “Stiles,” his dad said, “you don’t have to do this.”

                “But I want to,” Stiles said in a small voice because that was what it came down to. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to save Peter or kill Haha, No or just risk his life somehow, but he wanted something and chasing down Haha, No would get him it.

                He shoved past his father. There wasn’t anything else he could think to bring anyway. Outside, Derek waited for him, arms crossed, frown sour.

                _He’s right,_ Derek thought.

                _I don’t care._ Stiles climbed into the Jeep. _You coming?_

                Derek took the passenger seat. _We’re not going alone._

_Well, I’m not waiting on anyone._ Stiles started up the engine and left his father standing in the doorway looking like his wife just died again. Or like his son died this time. He was ashen and shaken, buckled under the weight of what Stiles’ life had become. Stiles turned his eyes to the road and left his father behind.

 

**~.x.~**

 

Scott caught up to them on foot and climbed into the Jeep as Stiles drove. He’d always been fast, and Stiles figured becoming the alpha had only made him more so. He wondered what it was like for Scott to be the alpha, a little like being captain (co-captain) of the lacrosse team maybe. He didn’t ask for it. He just got it because of who he was. Scott felt responsible for everyone from the start because of who he was too, so maybe it wasn’t much different except for his eye color. Stiles figured that must be what made him a true alpha. He also figured it was lucky for Beacon Hills Scott was the one left behind in the woods that night instead of Stiles.

                Allison caught up to them in her father’s car. Stiles assumed it was Allison. Could have been her father for all he knew. When they reached the furthest point of drivable terrain and piled out of their vehicles, Stiles found it was Allison, her dad, Isaac, and Cat together, Argents armed to the teeth and werewolves armed with their teeth.

                Stiles had just enough time to wonder where Rider had gone before he stepped out of the tree ahead of them. Not out of the tree line. Out of the tree. Stiles hated magic sometimes. He touched the tattoo on his cheek. He didn’t hate magic all the time. Behind Rider, a woman stepped out from the tree, presumably his partner with twelve years of sniper experience. She had a mix of black and Asian features, full lightweight body armor, and her hair in short dreads pulled neatly away from her face. A helmet rested in the crook of her arm, and Stiles wondered if he might have been better off with more to protect him than his pale skin and magic spade.

                “Sorokin is there,” Rider said. “I’d half expected him to lure you into someone else’s trap, but it seems he intends to take you out himself.”

                “He likes the personal touch,” Stiles said absently as he stepped forward. “Let’s just go.”

                “We only saw the two of them,” Rider’s partner said. “There’s something we’re all missing here. They wouldn’t face a whole pack alone.”

                Stiles spun back to her with a snarl. “And who are you again?”

                “I’m Rider.”

                “ _He’s_ Rider.”

                “Yes. I am also Rider. There are two of us.”

                “So what do we do if we need to talk to one of you but not the other. Like ‘Oh my God, Rider, there’s a flesh eating slug on my face that telepathically told me only you can remove it, and if anyone else touches it, it’ll explode my brains out’?”

                “I find that scenario unlikely,” the first Rider said.

                The other Rider snickered. “If it comes to that, call him Lord Rider and me Lady Rider. You aren’t getting our first names.”

                Lord Rider gave her the kind of look people used to give Stiles when he made a joke they didn’t like.

                “Oh, so Rider is your surname,” Stiles said. Despite their shared dark skin and general attractiveness, the Riders didn’t look alike at all. “Married?”

                Lady Rider nodded while Lord Rider rolled his eyes. “You are completely and intentionally missing the point.” He spoke in that half whisper people used when they wanted to shout without making a lot of noise. “There is a trap, and we couldn’t identify it.”

                “We’ll figure it out,” Stiles said. “We can’t just sit here.”

                Scott moved forward to set a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “I don’t think it’s safe to charge in blindly either.”

                “Please don’t take their side.” Stiles pouted.

                “I’m not taking anyone’s side.”

                “You’re not taking my side.”

                “Why would I even take your side? You’ve been the shittiest best friend ever. Even shittier than that time you asked me to see if Lydia liked you and I ended up making out with her instead.”

                “That’s pretty shitty, dude,” Isaac added.

                “Thank you.” Stiles pointed to Isaac. “And _fuck_ you.” Stiles rammed his finger against Scott’s chest. “Fuck all of you. I’m going.” He stormed into the tree line—not the tree—and hoped someone followed him. Derek did.

                _Cat’s coming too,_ Derek thought to him. _The others are deciding, but I think they’ll come._

_Good for them._ Stiles sneered, somehow certain Derek would understand it even though he couldn’t see Stiles’ face.

                The trees shifted from green to charred gradually. Some were more damaged than others. A few still had moss growing over them, and Stiles made sure to kick those as he passed. Just in case. Then he reached a place where all the trees were burned through, and after that a place without trees at all. That’s where it was. The ruins of a massive complex. Some areas were caved in, and Stiles wondered how far underground it had reached. His eyes fell on a curved portion of thick wall still standing at the center of the wreckage, and Stiles forgot to wonder about anything else. That was the arena, the pit where the Watchtower forced him to fight and kill for his life. That was where Haha, No would wait for him because Derek was right, it was about _Stiles’_ past, not Haha, No’s.

                “Come on,” Stiles grunted, pressing into the ruins. “Try not to let them kill you. Or me.”

                Cat and Derek followed. The others were still in the trees, moving forward more slowly, desperate to avoid whatever trap Haha, No laid for Stiles. As they neared the arena, Stiles heard voices. “I thought the Riders said there were only two of them,” Stiles muttered.

                _I think it’s a recording,_ Derek told him.

                As they neared, Stiles recognized the static undercurrent of the speakers. “...failed bill for government funding for Watchtower’s research,” the recording was saying. “It seems they found funding somewhere, and that their research was successful, if more militarily-minded than its medical origins suggest.”

                They reached the arena and entered through one of the old doors. It was too blown to hell to tell if it had a chip on the bottom right of the frame before the fire. Stiles itched to know which door it was. It didn’t matter, but it had never mattered. He just wanted to know. The walls inside the arena were mostly intact, and he could see now that they were incredibly thick. By the state of the rest of the compound, Stiles thought there must have been more of a bomb than just a fire, but the arena had withstood it. The cells of the View had not. Even if Stiles could figure out which part of the wall he’d looked out from, there was nothing now to show he’d been held there.

                A projector and a pair of speakers sat in the middle of the arena, projector pointed at the wall to the right and speakers pointed at the doorway they’d come through. There was a woman on the wall—projected onto the wall—dressed in a blazer and slacks with her hair pulled back and a microphone in her hand. A reporter. Her voice was smooth and professional. The picture changed to show generic footage of soldiers training.

                “Most troops are still going through the old boot camp regime, but a new division, almost every detail of which is classified, has forgone the usual training for a new process developed by a company called Watchtower. Even the name of the division is classified, but it seems other soldiers refer to the new troops as ‘princes.’”

                A new voice came through the speaker overtop of the reporter’s. Haha, No’s voice. “They’re either ahead of schedule or lied to me more than I thought.”

                The picture returned to the reporter, but a logo appeared on the screen beside her face. It was a rook split into halves, one black and the other white, on a maroon field. “The Watchtower itself was formed forty-eight years ago as a medical research facility. It seemed to disappear until ten years ago when the late Congressman Alex Sorokin spearheaded a failed bill for government funding for Watchtower’s research.”

                Haha, No’s voice returned. “Obviously they can’t declassify werewolves, so this is all we’ve got, but it’s still a hell of a lot considering the Watchtower is supposed to be a huge secret. The princes she mentioned are the partner sets who were selected to work for Watchtower.”

                “What’s the point of this, exactly? You showing me the news, I mean,” Stiles asked. He’d come here to kill Haha, No, not listen to a presentation.

                “I thought that was obvious. I’m trying to convince you not to kill me.”

                Stiles laughed. “I thought we’d let Cat kill you this time, so mission accomplished.”

                Haha, No said, “You still need me to help you take down Watchtower. Just ask your new friends.”

                The others had reached the arena. Allison and Scott had stopped to watch the newscast replay. Lord Rider and Isaac were absent, but Stiles doubted they’d refused to come since Lady Rider strode right up to the projector and turned it off.

                “It’s not true,” she explained. “Watchtower’s a lot older than that, and they’ve always been using shifters. The part about them infiltrating the military is true though.”

                “Why?” Allison asked. “What’s their plan?”

                Lady Rider said, “If our lives were an action movie, I’d guess world domination, and they’d explain the plan to me at length once they captured me. Unfortunately, our lives are not an action movie, so I don’t know.”

                Peter stepped through the doorway opposite Stiles. “It’s more like species domination than world domination.”

                Suddenly everyone’s claws and weapons were raised except Stiles’ and Peter’s. Peter looked the same as ever except that his eyes were glowing. Peter usually saved his theatrics for just the right moment, as if to let others forget how dangerous he could be, but the steady blue glow of his eyes felt like a threat. It was more Haha, No’s style than Peter’s.

                “Species,” Stiles said. “You mean humans and shifters.”

                “Exactly. Watchtower’s not content with the status quo: powerful, if rare, shifters hiding their existence from the hordes of weaker humans.”

                “How does what they did to us have anything to do with that?” Cat demanded, stalking forward.

                Peter laughed, and it stopped Cat in her tracks. Stiles watched her eyes widen with surprise, then confusion, before they narrowed in rage. He’d seen that look a hundred times and always felt a little special. That look was what made him the Joker because without it, he’d just be the man who laughed as he died. It made Stiles itch to see someone else summon that same look with a laugh.

                “They had to determine which species was stronger, more worthy, which one should dominate the other. Their studies started a long time ago in secret. They were supposed to stay that way until they had their answer.” Peter turned first to the deactivated projector, then to the wall where it pointed. “I guess they figured it out since we saw them last.”

                “Who is it then?” Allison asked. “Which species did they choose?”

                Peter raised his hands. “I don’t know.”

                Scott stepped forward. “You expect us to care that they think they can find out who is the strongest? No one is better than anyone else, and we’re not letting Sorokin go just because he knows what the Watchtower wants.”

                “Are you going to kill him, Scott?” Peter asked.

                “No.” His eyes darted to Stiles, Derek, and Cat, who all wanted Haha, No dead and reburied. Or cremated this time. “But that doesn’t mean we can let him keep hurting people.”

                “Dimitri isn’t the one hurting people now. He’s extremely invested in _stopping_ the people in charge, regardless of which side they’ve taken.”

                “This may have been news to the small-town kids,” Lady Rider said, “but we knew all this. So tell me: What’s Project Remix?”

                Peter rolled his eyes. “Dimitri decided the strength of Stiles’ and Derek’s bond came in part from how it had to overcome the bond between myself and Stiles. He started a program of switching bonded partners so they form new, stronger bonds. We don’t know the results since we kidnapped and murdered him. That’s all old news though. Watchtower going public is our problem now.”

                “And I suppose he has a plan,” Stiles said through gritted teeth. “Which he’s prepared to lay out for us after we promise to let him go free.”

                “He doesn’t have a plan, just himself and his rage. And me.”

                “But he’s cured,” Stiles said. “Why does he still need revenge?”

                There was a chuckle behind them, and Stiles turned to see Isaac and Lord Rider pulling Haha, No into the arena. “If Wind ‘fixed’ your bond, would you stop wanting me dead?” He waited just long enough for Stiles to look at him like he was crazy because Stiles would _always_ want Haha, No to pay. Just fixing one piece of it could never make him right again. “Yeah, I feel the same way.”

                “Who is Wind?”

                “They didn’t tell you?” Haha, No looked to the Riders with false wide-eyed innocence. “Wind is the group they work for. It used to be a branch of the Watchtower but split off when my father risked going public for something as trivial as money.”

                “Okay, never mind, I don’t care.” Stiles motioned to Cat. “She’s going to kill you now.”

                “Wait,” Lord Rider said. “We still need to interrogate him.”

                “Bullshit,” Cat spat. “He doesn’t know anything else you can use. He got what he knows now off the TV.”

                “He’s an asset,” Lady Rider said. “He could mean the difference between winning and losing this war, and it _is_ a war.”

                “I doubt he’s that important,” Stiles said. “He’s just one guy.”

                Lady Rider arched an eyebrow. “So are you, and we believe you and Derek were the pair that decided them.”

                “You’re ‘just one guy,’ Joker, but you’ve started a war on accident,” Lord Rider continued for her. “What do you think Sorokin could do with a purpose?”

                “Wind?” Stiles said, looking back and forth between the riders. He should have seen it sooner. The first few notes of a half familiar song ran through his head. There should have been ground under his feet. Stiles couldn’t feel it. He only felt himself falling, though he knew he didn’t move. “Watchtower, princes, the view, the joker...” His eyes landed on Cat. Catherine Wilde. “A wild cat, two riders.” He settled his gaze on Haha, No.

                “No reason to get excited,” Haha, No said.

                “Fuck you. Is Wind real? Is any of it?” Stiles’ eye twitched. His hands shook with fear or with rage, he wasn’t sure.

                “Most of it. I’ve... orchestrated certain parts.”

                “You have a sick sense of humor.”

                “If you kill me, you won’t find out who won. Peter can’t tell you.”

                “Wait,” Scott said, “What’s going on? I’m missing something.”

                “Whose decision was it?” Stiles asked. “Yours or someone else’s?”

                “Not mine. I didn’t lie about my place in the Watchtower. You’ll have to keep me around a while to find out which parts I did lie about.”

                Derek had his phone out and held it toward Scott as a song began to play. The song Haha, No had built Stiles’ story around. Most of the group turned toward the sound, confused. Derek merely held the phone to Scott who never reached for it, as if in answer to his question. Allison caught on first. Stiles could tell by the way her eyes swung first to Stiles, and then to Cat, the Riders, and Haha, No.

                “What was that?” Scott asked when the song was done.

                “All Along the Watchtower,” Derek said. “It’s a song by Bob Dylan.”

                “How did you find it?” Isaac asked. “There’s no signal out here.”

                Derek shrugged. “I’ve had it for a while.”

                “Why?” Stiles asked, but he thought he already knew.

                _Because I figured it out before you._ He flashed his teeth in what wasn’t a smile at all.

                _How long?_

_When Peter told us it was called Watchtower, I remembered the song. I thought it was funny how much it fit and downloaded it. Once I listened to it, I realized it fit too well to be a coincidence._ He glanced guiltily at Cat. _I was afraid she was part of it and drove her away. I was wrong._

“Why aren’t you saying any of this out loud?” Stiles asked.

                Derek shrugged.

                Derek had only spoken aloud a few times since finding out Haha, No was alive. Stiles should have noticed sooner, had been too focused on himself and his revenge.

                _Do you want to kill him?_ Stiles asked. Derek hadn’t said what _he_ wanted in a long time.

                _We already did that once. It didn’t help._

“Come on,” Stiles turned away from the arena. “Bring them with us. We can’t kill them yet.”

                “What?” Cat grabbed Stiles by the shoulder and spun him back toward her. “What the fuck do you mean we can’t kill him? WE HAVE TO KILL HIM.” She screamed the last sentence in Stiles’ face, so he grinned and stunned her.

                “We don’t have to do shit,” he said. “Killing him last time was a mistake, so we’re fixing it now.”

                “Because of a stupid song?” She said when she could move again, voice softened by the aftereffect of Stiles’ talisman.

                “No, because of my genius boyfriend who thinks we can use him.” Stiles turned his back to Cat and left, hoping the others would follow. He didn’t mind looking stupid because that was pretty much his life, but he’d mind if Haha, No got away because he let his guard down. The others trickled out behind him one by one, even Peter and Cat. Haha, No didn’t thank them. He only laughed.

 

**~.x.~**

 

Derek pushed Stiles into the Jeep’s passenger seat and drove him home. Neither of them said or thought a word. Stiles wondered if he could trick the others into taking him to the warehouse with Haha, No, away from Derek and away from Stiles’ father. Probably not. Even if he could, it was too late. At the house, his father had the door open before Derek put the Jeep into park.

                “Stiles, thank God,” he murmured as he pulled Stiles out of the Jeep and into a hug. “What happened? You weren’t... well, you weren’t gone long.” He seemed different, like Stiles had left a cardboard cutout behind and returned to find his real father in its place like nothing had happened.

                Stiles dragged his dad inside before answering. “We found them. They’re sort of our prisoners now. We think they can help beat Watchtower.”

                His dad glanced at Derek. “I thought you were letting the hunters handle that,” he said in an accusing tone. Stiles darted his gaze between the two of them, wondering what Derek had told his father.

                “They are, but I don’t think we can stay out of it since it keeps coming for us.” He paused, wondering if it was just his ego speaking before he corrected himself, “Coming for me.”

                _It is,_ Derek assured him, _but I think it’s also true. They tend to find you first._

                “We can leave,” his dad offered. “Run away so they can’t find you anymore.” He said it like a shrug. He didn’t want to leave his town any more than Stiles did.

                Stiles shook his head. “No, Dad, I think we’re gonna fight. But it’s not just us this time.”

                His dad looked down, breathing slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay. How can I help?”

                “No, you can’t—”

                His father cut him off. “I’ve been fighting bad guys longer than you, and you’re my son. I’m not sitting this out.”

                Stiles paused. This was the same man who let him walk out of the house to his death only a few hours earlier. He looked as haggard and worn out as before, and he neither looked nor smelled drunk. Stiles’ father hadn’t looked at him so directly since Stiles came home with his tattoo.

                _Is this why you brought me here?_ Stiles asked Derek.

                _I brought you here because he’s too afraid for your life to remember he’s mad at you._

_And you wanted us to talk._

Derek shrugged. _You want to talk to him._

_But I don’t know what to say._

“You guys are doing your telepathy thing again, aren’t you?”

                Stiles coughed. “What, no. Of course not. Why would we... uh, yeah. Sorry, Dad.”

                “It’s okay. I know Derek doesn’t like talking.” He patted Stiles on the shoulder. “Just don’t try to use it to keep me out of this anymore.”

                Stiles wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he gave his dad a thumbs up until Derek punched him in the shoulder.

                “Your next stop is to visit your prisoner, right? Where’s he at?”

                “I’m not sure the sheriff should, um, know the illegal—or be seen where we, uh... Dad, can you stay here?”

                Stiles’ dad looked at Derek instead of at him. Even though they couldn’t speak telepathically, Derek just nodded, and Stiles’ dad turned to Stiles to say, “This time.”

                Once they were back in the Jeep and out of his father’s human hearing, Stiles asked Derek, “What the hell just happened?”

                _We took advantage of your father’s elation at learning you’re still alive when he thought you’d just charged in to your death to get him to agree to whatever it is we’re doing now_ and _to mostly mend your relationship, at least on the surface._

“He wasn’t kidding when he said you don’t like talking, was he?”

                _No._

Stiles drove. Derek trusted him to go to the right place now.


	3. Severance

They had Haha, No in the same warehouse Peter had kept Frankie and her partner in after Stiles killed them. The popcorn machine was gone, moved to Peter’s apartment after he stopped needing a secret evil lair. The mountain ash remained, and some of it now encircled Peter. Someone—probably Allison—had chained Haha, No to a pillar at the center of another circle of ash even though he wasn’t a werewolf.

                “Where are the others?” Stiles asked. Only Allison and Scott stood with the Riders and their prisoners now. Cat wouldn’t have wanted to leave, but she wouldn’t have wanted to leave Haha, No alive either.

                Allison answered softly, “We made an excuse to get Cat away from Sorokin. They’re patrolling, checking up on people in town, that sort of thing. Isaac is keeping an eye on Cat.”

                “I think she can take him.”

                “But she isn’t going to because they’re allies now, remember? He’s distracting her, not keeping her prisoner.”

                Haha, No smirked across the warehouse at Stiles and Derek. “I assume you realized you killed me too soon last time.”

                Stiles scowled. “I’m a slow learner. Maybe I’ll do it again.”

                Haha, No laughed.

                _Don’t make promises you can’t keep,_ Derek warned Stiles.

                _What if I want to keep it?_

_Still don’t._

“So,” Scott said, “what exactly was the plan here?” He looked around at their prisoners. “I’m glad we’re not killing anyone today, but I’m still confused.”

                “We’re gonna ask him some questions, and then we’re gonna beat the bad guys,” Stiles said.

                Haha, No raised an eyebrow. “Yes, because it’s definitely that simple.”

                Stiles shrugged and made his way to the outer edge of Haha, No’s ash circle. He could pass it easily but worried he’d strangle the man if he got too close. “You must have started the song shit before you met me. It goes back too far.”

                “I get bored sometimes.”

                “What’s the point of it?”

                Haha, No rolled his eyes and repeated with emphasis, “I get bored sometimes.”

                “Fine. Answer the cliché question instead: why me?”

                “You’re not boring.”

                “Really? Should I assume your reports said, ‘Subject proves not boring. Warrants further study.’?”

                “Something like that.”

                “Joker,” Lady Rider said.

                “Yes?”

                “I’m going to guess you’re not trained as an interrogator.”

                “You guessed right.”

                “I _have_ been trained in interrogation, so let me have a go at him.”

                Stiles frowned. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

                With a shrug, Lady Rider said, “Watch.”

                A jolt shot through Stiles at the word, a streak of unease laced with regret and... longing. It came from Derek. Stiles wet his lips, glancing from Derek to Haha, No. “I think we’ll talk to Peter,” he said. He had to take Derek’s arm and pull him away. He wanted so badly to watch, to flip a switch and send pain coursing through Sorokin’s body for every misstep. He wanted to watch the man scream. Stiles stumbled, lost in Derek’s hatred, and caught himself on Derek’s jacket just outside of Peter’s ash circle.

                “We’re talking to me, are we?” Peter asked. “I’m pretty sure my dear nephew hates me.”

                Derek shrugged as if to concede the point.

                “Not the same way he hates him though,” Stiles said, jerking his thumb back at Haha, No.

                “I would have thought you’d say, ‘not as much.’”

                Stiles shook his head. “You murdered his older sister, remember?”

                Peter winced.

                Derek’s attention turned back toward Haha, No and Lady Rider. He tuned his hearing to the interrogation as Stiles lost a moment wondering at the names he had for people in his head these days.

                _Stop, Derek,_ Stiles thought. _You don’t want to hear it._

_Yes I do._

_Well, sure, but you also really, really don’t._ After a moment Stiles added, _You’ve been watching out for me, Derek. This is me finally watching out for you. We can leave if we have to, just don’t enjoy them torturing him._

Derek faced Stiles finally and sighed. He nodded.

                “So are we talking to me or just not talking to him?” Peter asked, nodding toward Haha, No.

                “The second one,” Stiles answered. He wondered what he could even say to Peter without having to worry he’d just hear what Haha, No wanted him to instead. Then he remembered when Rider blocked his bond with Derek. “Hey, Lord Rider,” he called. Rider winced at the nickname but raised his eyebrows in way that Stiles thought meant he was listening. “Are you guys blocking their bond the way you did mine and Derek’s before?”

                Lord Rider looked at Stiles like he was stupid. “Of course we are.”

                “Oh, cool, okay. How does that work, exactly?”

                “I’m not answering that.” Lord Rider crossed his arms and stared at apparently nothing.

                _I don’t like him,_ Derek thought.

                _He’s like exactly like you. Grumpy and aloof with no sense of humor._

_I have plenty of humor._

Stiles waved a hand dismissively at Derek and turned to Peter. “Was he controlling you?”

                “Obviously.”

                “Did you know you would bring him back when I killed him.”

                “I knew I’d try.”

                “Did you want to?”

                “It was an interesting problem, figuring out how to return someone else from the dead, but I admit he wouldn’t have been my first choice.”

                Derek growled. “What the hell does that mean?”

                “Oh, he speaks.” Peter smirked.

                Stiles said, “Derek’s just waiting for an excuse to torture someone, so let’s not encourage him, okay?”

                Derek’s eyes flashed as if to punctuate Stiles’ suggestion.

                “I liked my new toy and didn’t get to play with it long before you took it away, so, yes, I wanted him back,” Peter said, letting his eyes glow blue.

                “You _liked_ him?” Stiles pulled his eyebrows up to let Peter know that was hard to believe.

                “You’re the one who made me bond him, Stiles.”With a smirk, Peter quietly corrected himself, “Joker.”

                “Has he been controlling you?” he asked again, hoping for more of an answer.

                Peter sighed. “Yes.”

                _Peter is a great liar. I can’t tell you if that’s true,_ Derek thought.

                _I didn’t expect you to._

                “How?” Stiles asked.

                “Well, there’s this supernatural bond between us that I used to steal information and he chose to use to get revenge. The keywords here are ‘supernatural’ and ‘revenge.’”

                “I thought he used the bond to come back from the dead and to control you as two separate things, but he didn’t do either did he? He used it so he could get revenge, and those are what he needs to take out Watchtower.” Stiles almost glanced back at Haha, No but stopped himself.

                “ _He_ finds the whole thing very convenient,” Peter said.

                “Stiles,” Scott said, approaching their group from where he’d been standing near the door. “I don’t think they’re just interrogating him.” He looked back toward Haha, No and Lady Rider.

                “No, I assume they’re torturing him. Though now that I think about it, they’ve been weirdly quiet about it.” Stiles did turn then.

                There was a dome around them, covering the same space as the ash circle. Only Lady Rider and Haha, No were within it. The dome was dark, but not completely opaque. Stiles could see blood on Haha, No’s face and gashes on his chest. He could see Haha, No’s mouth open wide in a scream but heard nothing.

                “Shit,” he said. None of their people were inside. Lady Rider seemed nice enough, but Stiles didn’t trust her. She could finish her interrogation, kill him, and tell Stiles literally anything she wanted about what he said. Stiles started toward the dome, but Lord Rider stepped into his path.

                “I thought the point of staying over here was you didn’t want to be a part of this,” he said gently.

                “I changed my mind.”

                “It’s not healthy. Look at your Beast. He’s already salivating.”

                Stiles stamped down the relish leaking in from Derek at seeing Haha, No bloodied. “Then I want one of my people in there. Allison. Let Allison in.”

                Allison looked sick at the idea of being closer to Lady Rider as she tortured a man, even if he was an evil man, but she stepped forward nonetheless. Stiles was almost as shocked by her responsiveness as by her squeamishness. He wasn’t the leader here.

                “I’m afraid we can’t. Rider can only drop the field from inside, but she can’t hear us when it’s in place.” Lord Rider lifted his hands in an exaggerated shrug.

                Stiles wondered how badly it would hurt their chances against Watchtower if they killed him now. Derek stepped forward to do it. Scott grabbed his arm to stop him. When Derek shook him off, he shifted and grabbed him again, eyes glowing red.

                “Derek,” Scott said, “you need to calm down.”

                _She’ll notice us if we kill him._ The thought rumbled through Derek and into Stiles like a growl.

                “She’ll notice us if we kill him,” Stiles said because Derek didn’t want to speak.

                “Not really. She’ll notice once the bubble is down and she looks around, but our bond isn’t distorted like yours. We don’t literally and actively feel each other. She may, at most, feel a little sad, but I’d say she has plenty in there to distract her.” Rider smiled. It was soft, not even malicious. Stiles suddenly hated him as much as Derek did.

                Stiles ground his teeth. “Why are you _two Riders_ from _Wind_? Shouldn’t you be outside his plots?” Stiles wondered how much of the song he remembered accurately and how much of his life had been reshaped to suit it that he hadn’t noticed yet. Was he supposed to trust the Riders because they and the wind were outside the watchtower in the song? Was Haha, No just a crazy son of a bitch screwing with him for fun? Well, yes. Stiles wasn’t sure if he should memorize every word and note of “All Along the Watchtower” or resolve never to listen to it again.

                “Wind was founded before he was born.”

                “That’s not exactly an answer.”

                “Maybe he wasn’t the first,” Allison said. “He could have inherited a plan from someone else.”

                Behind them, Peter chuckled.

                “You know something?” Stiles demanded.

                Peter only shrugged.

                “Peter, don’t think that just because I like you means I won’t fucking kill you,” Stiles growled, stepping to the very edge of the mountain ash. “So tell me: what’s so funny?”

                “Dimitri didn’t inherit anything. He didn’t have a wise mentor sharing his diabolical plans and bad jokes for Dimitri to carry on when he was gone. He killed everyone with power over him and stole the pieces he liked of what they had.”

                “So someone was having a great inside joke making a song, and he just... took it? That doesn’t make any sense. He works for Watchtower, so how would someone in Wind be working with the same song?”

                As Stiles spoke, Rider stepped closer to him, or closer to Peter. It was hard to say which. Derek positioned himself between Lord Rider and Stiles, so Stiles ignored him for the moment. Allison and Scott looked to be on guard though.

                “Watchtower picked it’s name first, but Wind began using the song as a code of sorts, a way to signal their undercover status,” Peter said. “Which it is, by the way. Undercover. Our Riders will be working for both Watchtower and Wind, though it seems they’ve led you to believe Wind is entirely separate from Watchtower now.” He smirked at Lord Rider.

                Stiles followed Peter’s gaze to Lord Rider and raised a questioning eyebrow.

                “I get the feeling you actually trust him,” Rider said.

                “Trust is a strong word. Let’s say I believe him.” Stiles waited while Rider watched them silently. “Well?” he said when it became clear Rider was not sharing his secrets with them.

                “You think I’m going to give you more information now than I was willing to before because your evil undead werewolf former soul mate claims I’m hiding something? Of course I’m hiding something. That is the point of sharing limited information.”

                _Can I kill him now?_ Derek asked.

                _No, we may still need him._

_Or we may not. Or he may end up killing us._

_He can try, anyway._ Stiles smirked even though only Derek would understand. It seemed to put Lord Rider on edge.

                “I’ve decided,” Stiles said aloud. “You’re going to give me more information than you were willing to before because my evil undead werewolf former soul mate claims you’re hiding something and my violent damaged alpha werewolf boyfriend current soul mate is going to break your face if you don’t.”

                “Stiles, I think you just broke my brain,” Peter said as Derek took a step toward Lord Rider.

                “You think he can take me?” Rider said with a smirk, eyes glowing cold blue.

                “I don’t care if he can take you. There are several more of us, and your partner is locked in a grey bubble with my mad scientist former captor former murder victim always arch nemesis though currently possibly temporary ally and definitively prisoner Haha, No.”

                “No,” Peter sighed, “ _that_ broke my brain.”

                “Try living with him in your head,” Derek muttered, eyes glowing in anticipation as he took another step toward Rider.

                “Been there, done that.”

                Agitation spiked through Derek, and he lunged at Lord Rider.

                “What the fuck is wrong with all of you?” Lady Rider shouted. She had dropped the barrier while they were distracted and stalked away from Haha, No now, un-holstering her sidearm.

                Derek had Lord Rider on the ground, pinned with the tip of one of his claws barely brushing his eyeball. Scott had moved in while Stiles was distracted and helped Derek pin Lord Rider. Allison stepped toward Lady Rider, raising her crossbow, and Stiles had no doubt she could incapacitate and disarm her, no matter how confidently Lord Rider spoke of Lady’s skills. The ash circles around Peter and Haha, No remained intact, and Haha, No was still bound. Stiles laughed. He hadn’t even moved, and everyone here he couldn’t trust was taken care of. He felt a thrill of power at that, at knowing what he wanted could just _happen._

                “You think this is funny?” Lady Rider asked. She had paused, hand on the grip of her gun, though she hadn’t unholstered it fully, not with Allison pointing a crossbow at her.

                “Hell yeah,” Stiles said. “So why don’t you tell us what it is you want us to think he told you. It seems an easier place to start than the truth.” He grinned widely at her.

                “And put your hands up while you’re at it,” Allison added. “No reason to make me nervous.”

                Lady Rider raised her hands slowly, eyes fixed on Lord Rider. “We’re your allies, Joker. We want the same thing.”

                “Those things aren’t mutually inclusive. Sometimes enemies share goals. Like Haha, No and I. We’ll never be anything but enemies, but we both want people to suffer for what they did to us.” He’d avoided calling him Haha, No aloud since Scott’s first moment of confusion at the name when they found Frankie, but somehow he just didn’t care anymore if they thought he was crazy for calling him that.

                Behind Lady Rider, Stiles saw Haha, No smile.

                For a moment, Lady Rider was silent and still, eyes surveying the situation, lingering on Lord Rider. “We’re not the only ones he contacted,” she said. “He has other contacts, within both Watchtower and Wind. He says they’ve told him where the president of Watchtower is going to be in the next few weeks, observing testing in a nearby facility.”

                _Her heartbeat is steady,_ Derek thought.

                “He didn’t give anyone a complete story, just bits and pieces for each of us. I think he’s planning to assassinate the president, cut the head off the snake.”

                “Yeah, from what I’ve seen, this thing isn’t so much a snake as a hydra. Two more heads will just grow back if we cut this one off,” Stiles said.

                Haha, No laughed. “That’s literally exactly what I said. God, you are perfect.”

                Stiles didn’t let himself flinch. Instead he activated his talisman and paralyzed Haha, No out of spite. He figured he could afford to be a little petty. No one spoke until Haha, No could move again. He spat blood and grinned at Stiles.

                “He doesn’t look like a man whose plans have gotten away from him,” Stiles noted.

                “He’s not,” Peter said.

                Stiles raised an eyebrow at Lady Rider.

                She said, “If you trust him so much, why not ask him instead of me?”

                “Because we’re already asking you,” Allison answered for him.

                “Not that you’re really answering,” Derek said.

                Rider screamed as Derek slowly, slowly slid a claw into his eyeball by millimeters.

                “Stop!” Lady Rider shouted, and Derek pulled back, letting Lord Rider’s eye begin to heal. Stiles noticed that it didn’t and remembered Rider was a beta and Derek an alpha. The wound would heal slowly. “Sorokin has a whole plan figured out. Based on what he told me, it’s the only plan I can think of anyway, so he expects us to... carry it out for him. The president is just one piece. He’s also arranging for the president to gain a partner, a werewolf, to bond him. Regardless of what Watchtower has decided, Sorokin thinks he has the answer, and he wants to force the president to live up to it, knowing he’ll fail.”

                Stiles said, “That’s stupid.”

                At the same time, Allison asked, “What answer?”

                “The answer to the question of which species is stronger. It’s not a species but the gladiators, the bonded pairs who have overcoming torture and mortal combat. _Those_ are the only ones Sorokin thinks should survive because they’ve proven themselves worthy of it. He wants to make the president fight exactly the way he’s been making his prisoners fight.”

                “He wants the match to be against us,” Stiles said.

                Lady Rider nodded while Haha, No laughed.

                “That doesn’t stop anyone else from taking over,” Allison said.

                “It sounds like it just makes the next people in charge even more determined to kill Stiles, and the rest of us,” Scott added.

                “I never said it was a good plan, just that I couldn’t think of anything better.”

                “Okay,” Stiles said, “how about we break in and steal documents proving what they’ve been doing and leak them? Or we hunt down their funders—it’s all private funding until this new government contract for the princes, so I expect it’s primarily a few big spenders—and kill or threaten them? Or instead of killing their president, we kidnap him, and force him to command them to stop what they’re doing?”

                “Damnit,” Haha, No muttered. “ _Why_ did you have to be so perfect?”

                “You think we’ve never tried any of those?” Lady Rider said. “Very few people have the hacking skills necessary to reach those documents, and even fewer combine those with the ability to escape a complex with that information. The _two_ who have managed it in the past were killed before they could get the files out. You would need to hack those same files to find out who the funders are, which runs again into the problem wherein you get killed. You barely managed to escape with Sorokin before, but they didn’t even bother hunting you until he started contacting people. If you had the president, they would hunt you down and kill you. Or they would come to Beacon Hills, where they already know you live, and just kill your loved ones until you turned yourselves in.” She scowled. “I meant it when I said I can’t think of a good plan.”

                _I know a hacker,_ Stiles thought.

                _He still doesn’t know about werewolves,_ Derek warned.

                _Maybe it’s time he found out._

“Peter,” Stiles said, “do you agree with everything she’s said?”

                “She forgot to mention that Dimitri’s plan is so terrible because he’s a super villain well known for concocting overcomplicated schemes, but otherwise it sounds accurate enough.”

                “You said, ‘until he started contacting people,’” Stiles noted. “So they’re hunting us now?”

                “Technically they’re hunting Sorokin, but he’s expected to be with you, and they’re all for the idea of two birds and one stone.”

                “And you’re the ones they sent to do it, right?”

                Lady Rider hesitated, glancing toward her Lord again. “Yes.”

                “Are you supposed to kill or kidnap us all?”

                “Capture if possible, kill if necessary.”

                Allison tilted her head. “So you’re saying we already have a way into one of the complexes, at least for those of you who have been before?”

                “Yes.”  
                “Good.” Allison glanced to Stiles quickly, but kept the crossbow leveled at Rider. “We should restrain them for now, so we can plan without risk of being interrupted again.”

                “I told you we’re allies,” Lady Rider said.

                Stiles rolled his eyes. “I don’t care. Allison’s amazing, and you’re a stranger. Just guess whose advice I’m going to take.” He’d said it like it was his decision, like he was in charge.

                “They’re right,” Scott said behind him. Scott, the real alpha here. “We can’t trust you yet, but we want to. We’ll have to talk it over first, and until then, we’ll need you to wait here.”

                “To wait here in chains.” Lady Rider sneered.

                “To wait here in chains,” Scott agreed. “And ash.”

                They restrained the Riders while Haha, No and Peter watched, laughing.

 

**~.x.~**

 

Scott took Stiles’ arm before he could ring Danny’s doorbell. “Hold on,” he said. “We should talk about this before we do anything we can’t take back.”

                _Scott’s right. I doubt he’s_ that _good a hacker,_ Derek thought.

                _He’s all we’ve got._

Stiles said, “No, Scott, we need to know if he’ll help before we waste time planning.”

                “Even if he is okay with everything, he’s not ready for something like this. He’s _human.”_

“Allison and I are human.”

                “That’s different.”

                “When you first got bitten and had no idea what was going on and tried to kill me, was it different then?” Stiles pulled his arm from Scott’s grip. “We don’t all have the luxury of being ready for this, Scott.” He jammed his thumb against the doorbell before anyone else could stop him.

                Danny opened the door smiling, though it faded into confusion as he studied the trio on his porch. “Scott, Stiles, ...Miguel. What’s up?”

                Derek scowled. _Stiles._

                “Oh, yeah, that was a, uh, lie. He’s not really my cousin Miguel, he’s—”

                “Derek Hale, I know. He was a fugitive at the time. There were posters and news reports, and I’ve seen him hanging around with you guys a few times since.” Danny smiled.

                “I... okay I guess you... well I was going to say my _boyfriend_ Dere—then why did you still call him Miguel?”

                “Because it’s funny.” Danny shrugged and smiled. “Are we talking on the porch, or do I invite you in for lemonade or something hospitable?”

                Scott said, “Let’s go inside. But no lemonade.”

                “It was a joke. I don’t have lemonade.”

                Stiles faked a gasp. “What kind of person doesn’t have lemonade?”

                _You’re acting strangely, Stiles._

_No, I’m acting normal. I just haven’t been normal for a while._

Derek considered silently while Danny led them inside and past the living room down a hallway to what turned out to be his bedroom. “We don’t exactly have the house to ourselves,” Danny said, “So we can hang here. But if anyone asks, I’m telling them his name is Miguel because he _was_ a fugitive.”

                “Well, Dannyboy, it’s nice that you remember the last time you, me, and, uh, Miguel were in the same room because—”

                “If you say the word ‘hacking,’ I’m kicking you out.”

                “We need you to help us steal some files from a massive, secret, evil organization that kidnaps and tortures people, and I didn’t say the word, so you can’t kick us out yet.”

                “I can do whatever I want.” He didn’t, though. He paused, watching Stiles. “Is this organization the reason you were missing?”

                Stiles nodded.

                “And they... tortured you?”

                Stiles nodded again.

                “I don’t suppose we can access those files remotely?”

                “We are certainly open to trying but doubt it’ll work.” Stiles grimaced. “Actually, we hadn’t even thought of trying.”

                Scott muttered, “Because you wouldn’t let us plan it out before coming here.”

                “I’ll try,” Danny said. “But if anything goes wrong I expect your dad to bail me out somehow. I can’t get caught hacking again, especially not now that I’m over eighteen.”

                Stiles grinned. “That’s my boy! But there’s one more thing.” He motioned Scott forward.

                “Please don’t freak out,” Scott said before taking a deep breath and shifting. He closed his eyes and mouth, so they could watch the hair grow in and his eyebrow ridge and nose bridge thicken. When the shift had completed, he first parted his lips, revealing his fangs, and then opened his eyes, glowing red.

                “Shit,” Danny said. “That’s... shit.”

                Scott shifted back. “I won’t hurt you. It’s just that these guys kidnap humans and werewolves both, and—”

                “I managed for _years_ to avoid all this supernatural Beacon Hills shit, and now you pull me in and won’t even let me pretend everyone involved is human?” Danny punched Scott’s shoulder. “At least Stiles had the decency to lie to me before.”

                “You knew?” Scott asked.

                “Dude, you’re not subtle. How bad is it? I mean, I actively turn the other way, so how many of you are actually supernatural?”

                Scott started to answer, but Stiles held out a hand in a classic ‘I got this’ pose. He hadn’t been his old self in a long time, but being around Danny just made him feel... younger. “Lydia’s a banshee. Jackson was a kanima but got over it and became a werewolf when Derek and Peter killed him. Derek is a werewolf with a psychic bond to me, though I’m human. Peter is Derek’s creepy uncle, and a werewolf. Allison is a werewolf hunter, though she sort of retired to take up the human protector position instead, technically. Isaac is a werewolf, but Jackson was the one who killed his dad because Matt told him to—”

                “So glad I never dated Matt.”

                “Because he could control Jackson when he was the kanima. Erica and Boyd were werewolves, and they were killed by the alpha pack, which was a sort of evil pack of alpha wolves. Your boyfriend and Aidan belonged to the alpha pack, but now I think they’re sort of part of Scott’s pack.”

                “Yeah, Ethan never told me either. Now I should pretend to be angry about that.”

                “Ms. Blake was a darach, which is like an evil druid, and she was the serial killer the police never caught who mysteriously stopped killing people. Scott’s boss and Ms. Morell are the good kind of druid, and by ‘good’ I mean they usually only kill you if you’re evil, probably. All of Allison’s family were hunters too, though her dad has joined her as the more protector type. And I think that’s everyone.”

                “That was terribly organized,” Danny said.

                “Yeah, well, it didn’t help that you kept interrupting.”

                “You just kept going like I hadn’t said anything.”

                “Because you were being rude.”

                “You realize this is completely insane, right?”

                “I thought you already knew. Scott, buddy, shift again for Danny.”

                “He doesn’t need to,” Danny said. “I believe you. I’m just saying it’s insane. This place you want to break into will have werewolves guarding it?”

                “Werewolves and then some.”

                Danny eyed Stiles for a moment before asking, “Then why don’t you look scared? Scott and Derek can defend themselves, but you said you’re still human.”

                “You remember I said these guys were the reason I was gone so long?” Stiles waited until Danny nodded to continue. “They made me fight them.”

                Derek gave Danny a moment to look utterly shocked, and probably to picture Stiles fighting a werewolf off on his own before grunting, “You’re exaggerating. They made us fight them. As a team. Against other teams.”

                “They had you too, Miguel?” Danny asked.

                Derek scowled but nodded sharply.

                Danny sighed. “Okay, just one more question.”

                “Shoot,” Stiles said.

                “What the hell did you do to your face?”

                Stiles laughed and activated his talisman. He felt his smile stretch into the manic form of his Joker grins, but he figured Danny should know what he was getting himself into.

                “I made it into a weapon,” he said as Danny shook himself out of his brief stupor.

                _You’re being overdramatic,_ Derek pointed out.

                _I’m having fun._

_You should spend more time with Danny._

_I get the feeling I’m about to do just that._

Derek paused, remembering what Haha, No had done to him. _Yeah, but it might ruin him to do it this way._

Danny was speaking, Stiles realized. “You better use that to help me, not slow me down so you get away.”

                “I won’t let them get you, Danny,” Stiles said, for Danny and for Derek.

 

**~.x.~**

 

When they reached Stiles’ house, Ethan was waiting for them, standing with arms crossed on the porch like a guard. Danny pushed his way out of the Jeep, pointedly crawling over Derek’s lap instead of waiting for him to get out, and apologizing to ‘Miguel.’ Stiles scowled at Danny until he had his hands off of Derek. Derek became suddenly smug.

                _How’s it feel then?_

                Stiles scowled harder. It wasn’t the same. Danny was actually flirting with Derek. Peter and Stiles never did more than talk; they never even thought about doing more than talking. And now Peter was bonded to Haha, No anyway, scuttling around to do his fucking master’s bidding.

                “You used to spend _hours_ with him in an empty warehouse,” Derek pointed out, as Danny stopped a few feet out from Ethan and mirrored his pose. They stared each other down.

                “One,” Stiles said, “nothing happened then either. Two, if it had, well, you’d dumped me at the time. Three, it was hardly empty. It had corpses. Not exactly romantic. So nothing happened.”

                Derek leaned forward, pulling Stiles toward him with a hand to his shoulder as Scott climbed off his bike and passed them to join Danny and Ethan. With his lips brushing Stiles’ ear, Derek whispered, “You wanted it to.”

                Stiles pushed him back. “No I didn’t,” he hissed through his teeth. “All I wanted was someone who didn’t treat me like I was broken.”

                “And he didn’t, good for him. And you liked that.”

                “Of course I liked it. I bought him a popcorn machine as a testament to our almost friendship.”

                “I meant a different kind of liked.”

                “I know what you fucking meant,” Stiles sneered. “And you know I didn’t. You’re in my head, Derek. You _know.”_

                “Yeah, I’m in your head. So are you. Weird that we’re getting different pictures.”

                “You’re paranoid, which is normal given the, uh, your entire life. And you’re jealous, also probably normal. But that doesn’t mean you can project your issues literally into my brain.”

                “Oh. Oh is that it?” Derek bared his teeth, but it wasn’t a smile. “Or maybe you’re in denial, which is normal given that he’s a psychotic murderer and over a decade your senior. And you’re obsessed with him, which I guess also is normal given that you’re fucked in the head.”

                “I’m not obsessed with your uncle, Derek.”

                “No, no, you’re obsessed with the holder of your previous psychic bond, who you missed out on your chance to psychic sleep with. It’s a coincidence that he’s also my uncle.”

                “Derek, if Peter was here right now literally begging me to fuck him, and you gave us your permission, I still wouldn’t do it.”

                “No, but you’d wonder. What would it be like? Would you like it? Did you make a mistake when you turned him down?” Derek leaned in closer so he could whisper in Stiles’ ear again. “Could you maybe, if you tried, have us both?”

                “FUCK YOU,” Stiles screamed. “Fuck you, and fuck your uncle, and fuck your brain, and you know what, fuck me too.” He clamored out of the Jeep and slammed his door before Derek even turned to get out. Stiles stalked around the Jeep to the door and found Danny, Ethan, and Scott all staring blankly at him. Behind them, Stiles’ father had opened the door and stood as frozen as the talisman had once made him.

                “Well,” Danny said eventually. “I thought I was gonna fight with Ethan, but you and Derek sort of monopolized that.”

                Ethan said, “Skip to kiss and make up?”

                Danny nodded and let Ethan pull him inside.

                Scott stumbled over to Stiles. “Dude, that is the most words I’ve heard Derek say in a while, and I wish I hadn’t heard any of them.” He turned away to join the others inside, leaving the sheriff standing in the doorway.

                “Son.”

                “Dad.”

                “Derek.”

                “Sheriff.”

                “Where’s Peter?”

                “What?” Stiles asked. That wasn’t what he’d expected his father to say.

                “Well, I’ve given Derek my blessing, but I need to get Argent to help me murder Peter now for leading on my son.”

                “Oh god,” Stiles groaned. “He didn’t do anything. We never did anything. Derek is imagining everything.”

                “Son.”

                “Dad.”

                “From what I’ve seen since he moved in, Derek knows you better than you know yourself. If he says something’s going on, I’m taking his word on it.”

                “Not you too.”

                “Just think about what he said. Or don’t think about it. Never think about it again. Peter Hale is untrustworthy and too old for you.”

                “Thanks, Dad. Fuck you too.” Stiles shoved past him into the house.

                Everyone was there. They hadn’t had a pack meeting this complete since... since probably never. Ethan was on the couch with Danny in his lap, predictably making out. Aidan was creeping on Lydia, also predictably. Lydia and Allison shared an armchair with Allison sitting on the arm. Isaac leaned nonchalantly against the side table by them, as if he wasn’t creeping on Allison. Scott kept shooting him miniglares from his spot on the far side of the couch from Ethan and Danny, which probably explained why Isaac looked so guilty. Cat looked fed up with the pack from where she leaned in the corner rolling her eyes at them all. Scott’s mom was even there, leaning against the wall and watching over everyone. Deaton stood beside her, and Stiles suspected his entrance had interrupted their conversation. He wondered how many of these people had overheard him shouting at Derek and cringed. Chris Argent came in from the kitchen with a glass of water in his hand, and Stiles nearly asked what was wrong with everyone to invite him. No one else seemed surprised. Derek and Stiles’ father followed Stiles in and closed the door. Scott stood so he could address the group.

                “We’re planning something,” he said, “something big, something dangerous. We’re going to fight back against the guys who took Stiles and Derek from us twice. We’re gonna make sure they never take anyone else again.” He looked around, surveying the room. This was his pack. “We need a plan to do it. That’s why we’re all here.”

                Scott summarized the situation—touching only briefly on what had been done to Derek, Stiles, and Cat—and their assets, including the information from the Riders, Haha, No, and Peter. Stiles wished Peter had been at the meeting. He was a strategist. He stamped down the feeling when Derek glanced at him. He did not want to fuck Peter Hale.

                “I don’t think we can manage a full-scale attack,” Allison said when Scott had finished. “So Sorokin’s infiltration plan might be the best way if we can figure out how to keep it from becoming a trap.”

                “Actually,” Chris said, “I might be able to help. Even with hunters joining us, it won’t be a real attack, more of a skirmish, a diversion. We can distract them long enough for you to ditch your handlers, find what you need, and escape.”

                “If we try several of your plans, attack from all angles, we might be able to confuse them even more, ensure at least one team gets... their objective,” Stiles’ dad said. He hadn’t fooled anyone at the end. He’d been about to say, ‘at least one team gets out.’

                Scott said, “The Riders seemed to like Sorokin’s plan. Maybe we can convince them we’re going through with that, and have another team get Danny in and out.”

                “What about the part of his plan that involves Derek and I fighting to the death. Again.”

                Lydia smirked. “Switch out with the Riders. They’re a team too right? So they fight this president, and you two escape.”

                “Or you could make Peter and Sorokin fight them,” Allison said.

                Stiles glared at Derek. “I want Peter to make it out alive too.”

                “Do you really still think he’s your friend?” Lydia asked.

                “He’s being controlled.”

                “He’s being manipulative. He brought Sorokin back because he wanted to.”

                Stiles ground his teeth and finally said, “You should know better than that, unless you brought Peter back because you wanted to.”

                “You know I didn’t.” Her voice became dangerously soft.

                “Then maybe he didn’t either.”

                Stiles could see the way they were looking at him, could imagine what they were thinking after listening to him and Derek fight. Of course that would be the one time Derek couldn’t just keep it in, the one time he would have to say everything out loud. They all believed Derek. Even Stiles’ father believed Derek.

                Into the silence, Derek thought, _You weren’t telepathic, so you couldn’t do it on purpose, but I bet, sometimes, you masturbated together. I bet you even thought of each other and you came together._

_Derek, what the fuck is wrong with you?_

_You are. You’re what’s wrong with me. And I can’t fucking get away from you._

“BREAK IT!” Stiles screamed, rounding on Derek. _You_ can _get away from me. All you have to do is break the bond. I did it once. It’s not that hard._ “JUST FUCKING BREAK IT AND BE DONE WITH ME THEN.”

                “Guys,” Scott said, “I don’t think—”

                “You think that’s enough? You’ve been twisting in my brain so long I can hardly tell which parts aren’t me anymore.” _You’ve ruined me already, Stiles._ “I can’t get away from you.” _I’ll never get away from you or from what being with you has made me._

_And what’s that?_

“A freak. A monster. Almost as insane and homicidal as you, and that’s a lot coming from a guy who once slashed his own uncle’s throat.”

                “Calm down,” Scott said, but he didn’t get any further.

                Stiles activated his talisman. Everyone froze. He could have gotten away, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to make Derek pay. Stiles wasn’t the one who broke him. Stiles wasn’t the one who kept pushing him away. He wasn’t the reason Derek couldn’t control the bond well enough to keep to his own brain instead of spying on Stiles’ thoughts and feelings.

                He’d fought werewolves before. None of them had been Derek, and none of them had been alphas, but he knew enough. He wasn’t sure how to fight without killing them, not for sure, but he figured if Derek couldn’t defend himself against a human, maybe he deserved it. Stiles always carried weapons on him now, and he unsheathed a knife while everyone was stunned.

                He had the blade to Derek’s throat before he remembered he was supposed to _love_ him. He froze with it pressed there like a threat, unable to press forward.

                “Sorokin didn’t just make you a monster,” Derek said when he could speak again. “He made you _him.”_

                Stiles couldn’t tell Derek he was wrong.

He screamed and hurled the knife away from him. It stuck in the wall and hung there. Someone tackled Stiles and pinned him to the floor. They were shouting, but Stiles couldn’t hear them over his own screaming. He stopped at some point, but his breathing was off, and his head was pounding. It wasn’t a panic attack, he didn’t think. It was crying. There were tears pouring from his eyes and snot running out his nose and into the carpet where whoever held him down kept his face crushed against it.

                Stiles stopped struggling, and eventually Scott asked from just behind his ear, “Are you okay now?”

                “No,” Stiles said. “I’m not okay, but I’m not going to attack Derek again.”

                Scott released Stiles and helped him stand. Stiles couldn’t look at Derek, but he still knew Derek was glaring at him. Derek _hated_ him. Even though Scott had just helped him up, Stiles squatted down and wrapped his arms around his legs. The bond was still intact.

                Lydia broke the silence. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

                Stiles found a thought, a cruel, dark thought, and he shared it with Derek. _He didn’t make me him. I’m not enough to be him. He made_ us _him. Together._

Derek couldn’t tell Stiles he was wrong.

                “We’re broken,” Derek said. “And we’re breaking each other more and more because our bond is broken too. We just... lost it for a moment.”

                “Is that sort of thing going to happen while you’re supposed to be fighting Watchtower?” Stiles’ dad asked.

                “No, neither of us has ever broken down mentally during combat,” Stiles said. “It’s the in-betweens when we have trouble.”

                “Yeah, but has either of you ever tried to kill the other before?”

                Stiles shrank in on himself, holding his legs tighter and squeezing his eyes shut. “No,” he whispered.

                “What happened?” Scott asked, bending down to Stiles’ level. “You guys were fine before. You were fine at Danny’s. By the way Derek was smirking at you between frowns, I kind of thought you were getting along really well at Danny’s, even though he was obviously annoyed at being called Miguel.”

                “I don’t know,” Stiles said. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

                “Peter,” Derek said.

                “So, what, talking about Peter makes the two of you hate each other?” Allison asked. “That doesn’t make sense.”

                “Is it because you bonded him first?” Lydia suggested. “Maybe the new bond has issues with the old bond, especially since you’re obviously still loyal to Peter.”

                “It’s got to be that scientist,” Stiles’ father said. “You two were tolerating each other, even when you were fighting, before he came. Now you’re at each other’s throats.”

                “He hasn’t had us where he could control us though. He’s our prisoner, not the other way around,” Stiles said, still afraid to look up.

                Scott set a hand on Stiles’ back. “Stiles, the way he looked at you, it was like he had you just where he wanted you. I think he’s our prisoner only because he wants to be.”

                “You told us the Riders blocked your bond instantly. They didn’t have to do anything to you,” Allison said. “Maybe there’s a similar way to... enrage you.”

                “Either a device or a trigger,” Danny added, “A topic that, once touched on, is guaranteed to make you lose control.”

                Stiles stood up and looked Derek in the eye. “I guess there’s a way to test that,” he said. “Derek, do not hurt me.” Then he thought, _I admit, your uncle is fucking hot._

                Derek punched him so hard Stiles blacked out.

 

**~.x.~**

 

Stiles came to on the couch. Ethan and Danny had moved, and Derek sat in their place with Stiles’ head resting in his lap.

                “Sorry,” Derek said.

                “Yeah, me too,” Stiles groaned. His head pounded, but he noticed no one offered him any aspirin.

                “We kept going without you,” Lydia said. “Hope you don’t mind.”

                “We actually got a lot more done without you,” Aidan added. Scott and Derek glared at him. “Well, we did.”

                _That was kind of a useless test anyway, wasn’t it?_ Stiles asked.

                _Yeah, I’d have hit you either way._

_Sorry._

“You know you two get this spacey look on your faces when you brainwave each other, right?” Danny asked. “Because you’re supposed to be paying attention to us now, not making up.”

                “You and Ethan made up in front of everyone,” Stiles said.

                Danny smirked. “We didn’t waste anyone’s time though.”

                “Fine, tell me this wondrous plan you conceived without me.”

                “I save the day while you play with your psychos.”

                Stiles rolled his eyes.

                “The plan,” Scott said, “is to confuse and distract them. Argent and your dad will organize the hunters. They’ll attack the base to draw their attention. I’m going to sneak in with Danny, Ethan, and Aidan. Danny says he can hack their files, and the rest of us will make sure he gets back out with them. Allison, Isaac, and Cat are going to break in as a diversion. And Derek says you’ll be okay going in with Sorokin and the Riders. You should try to break away from them as soon as you’re inside though. I don’t think we’ll be able to break you out if they trap you in the arena.”

                Stiles narrowed his eyes. “So your brilliant plan is pretty much exactly what we were thinking about before I blacked out, only you’ve assigned people to jobs now.”

                “We fleshed it out a little!”

                “You added _one_ decoy team. And what makes you think the Riders and Haha, No will still cooperate after we, you know, locked the Riders up, and speaking of locking them up, who is guarding them right now if we’re all here?”

                “Um. Morrell.”

                “She’s back in town?”

                “She never actually left.” Scott winced. “I guess she just left the school.”

                Stiles glowered. Morrell had been the one to mention talismans to him. She’d also been his therapist, and apparently she’d hidden from him rather than just tell him he was too screwed for her to help. “She’s watching them alone? There are four of them, you know.”

                “She can handle them,” Deaton said.

                “Why is she helping us anyway?”

                “Watchtower threatens the balance.”

                Stiles rolled his eyes. “Of course it does.”

                Allison caught Stiles’ gaze and held it with her own. “And they’ll cooperate because you’ll tell them to, okay. Just convince them.”

                “Yes, because it’s that easy.”

                _You should only have to convince Sorokin,_ Derek noted. _Peter does whatever he wants, and even though the Riders claim Wind has been around longer than his influence, they still made too much a point of keeping you from hearing the interrogation and then insisting on his plan._

_You think they’re working for him?_

_I think they’re doing what he wants whether they’re working for him or not. Just like we are._

_That is the worst point. Why did you make that point? Stop making points._

_The point stands. We just spent half an hour figuring out how to enact his plan with fewer chances for us to die horribly._

_Well,_ you _did. I took a nap._

“Hey, space-faces, we’re still talking, I think,” Danny said.

                “Sure, then talk. Whose job is it to get anyone who’s wounded out and back to Melissa and Deaton?”

                “Um.”

                _They didn’t plan that._

“Mine,” Allison said.

                “And mine,” Lydia added. “If I can hear them.”

                “You can do that?”

                “I can try?”

                Stiles tried to think of something to say to that, something about needing a better plan without telling Lydia to stop everything and hide under her blankets, but wound up working his mouth with nothing coming out until he sighed, shrugged, and decided to hope Lydia would hear him screaming before he died instead of after.

                “What about releasing the prisoners?” he asked instead.

                _They didn’t plan that either._

_Well why didn’t you or Cat?_

_I don’t think either of us felt much like talking._

“If we shut down Watchtower, they won’t be prisoners anymore,” Isaac said.

                “Except that standard procedure for a compromised base is burn that shit to the ground,” Stiles countered, “at least according to Lord Rider.”

                Scott said, “We were just trying to work out _your_ plan, Stiles. Why are you so determined to say nothing will work?”

                “We’ll get the prisoners,” Derek said, “after we get away from the Riders.”

                “We will too,” Cat added. “More free prisoners will add to the confusion and improve our odds, just like it did at the arena.”

                “It also covers the chance that we won’t escape the Riders and Haha, No,” Stiles said.

                “Have you met us? We’ll get away.” Derek sounded surer than he was.

                “And Peter?”

                Derek shrugged. “Can take care of himself.”

                “You didn’t get angry,” Lydia said. “I don’t think Peter is what’s wrong, just what you ended up arguing about.”

                Stiles said, “Thanks, Lydia, I really needed a reminder...”  
                “Yes, you probably did. Because whatever it is that made you two blow up at each other is guaranteed to come back when you’re trying to get away from Sorokin, especially if he’s causing it.”

                Stiles closed his eyes and leaned back down into Derek’s lap. He hadn’t felt anything different about the bond when they argued, but Stiles had gotten pretty good at ignoring the bond, at least compared to Derek. Maybe he’d just missed it. With a deep breath, Stiles reached for Derek, letting go of the artificial distance he’d built up between them.

                Derek held his breath even though he knew he shouldn’t fear Stiles. Stiles couldn’t hurt him, not without hurting himself, but Stiles was one of the most self-destructive people Derek knew. Dread sat heavy in his gut. Waiting. Spreading. Something would go wrong. Something always went wrong. They were wrong. Ruined.

                Nothing happened.

                Derek breathed, and Stiles breathed with him. Derek’s breath brushed against Stiles’ face, and they felt it together. Stiles pinched his own arm, and Derek flinched. Wrong.

                Why?

                Weakness.

                The bond gave them what they needed. Why would it give them weakness? It gave others the same weakness. The alpha kanima had frozen when Stiles killed Mirabelle. Frankie had frozen when Stiles killed her partner. When Stiles captured Haha, No, it had been by using that same weakness against his bonded soldiers.

                No, that was different. Those were all deaths, the severance of their bond, not the bond itself. Derek and Stiles were different. They hadn’t shared pain at first. Haha, No had tortured them, but it hadn’t been like this. When did it change?

                When they left. When Derek hit the field surrounding the perimeter of Watchtower’s training facility. Haha, No was with them; he could have done something, except that he’d been surprised, intrigued.

                So why would the bond give them weakness?

                “Because I was afraid,” they whispered together.

                Stiles opened his eyes. “I did it. I did it. I was afraid. I needed it.” He’d felt more like a monster than a man as they escaped the base. He’d been afraid, not for himself, but _of_ himself.

                “What did you need?” his father asked. The others had been silent, probably aware something was taking place if not what.

                “To be weak.”

                “Why?”

                “To feel human again.”

                “What about Derek?” Cat asked.

                “I needed to argue,” he said. “I was afraid to even speak.”

                “Please tell me this is just a bad joke,” Isaac said. “You’re telling us you were _right_ when you said you lost control just because you’re screwed up, and it has nothing to do with Sorokin at all?”

                Derek shrugged and avoided eye contact.

                Lydia asked, “Does that mean you can fix it now? You know what’s wrong, so you can stop it, right?”

                Derek and Stiles spoke together again when they said, “No. We don’t know how.”

                “That’s sort of creepy,” Isaac said.

                Derek shrugged again.

                The sheriff sighed. “We can’t send you two out there like this. You’re barely functioning.”

                “We don’t have much choice,” Stiles pointed out. “No way Haha, No will go through with anything if he doesn’t believe he’s got us.”

                Derek added, “Since it’s a change that happened outside of his lab, the differences in the bond might confuse him enough to give us an advantage.”

                “I thought the bond became what you needed when it formed, not later,” Cat said. “That was what you said.”

                “Maybe I was wrong.” Stiles sat up to face the room. He had to look strong to convince them he should go. “I’ve never studied it like he has. I hardly know anything about it. Even what I do have is mostly guesses.”

                “All the more reason to hold you two back,” Chris said. “We don’t need to risk complications we don’t understand arising mid-operation.”

                Allison shook her head. “He was right when he said Sorokin won’t cooperate without them. Or at least without Stiles.” She paused for a moment, considering them. “Maybe Derek could stay back. The bond only matters if they’re together.”

                Stiles latched onto Derek’s hand. “No,” he hissed at the same time Derek said, “That might work.”

                They paused to stare at each other. Stiles wilted. It was selfish of him to want Derek with him. He was going into danger. Derek would be safer staying back.

                “That wasn’t why I agreed,” Derek said.

                “Stop talking out loud.” Stiles scowled. He didn’t need the others knowing what he was thinking too.

                _I’m trying hard to talk out loud, and you know it._

Stiles was bitter. Derek knew and understood and frowned. Stiles knew perfectly well how hard it was for Derek and wanted him to stop anyway.

                _I’m pretty sure things like this are why I screwed us up._

_I’m sorry. I just..._ Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and curled in on himself. _I’m afraid of this too._

_You’re the one who was always running off to spend time alone or with Peter._

_Yeah, but I always knew I could come back._

“Haha, No wants us to fight the president. He won’t agree to just leave you behind.” _See how that was a part it was okay for the others to hear because we’d have to explain it anyway._

_Don’t fucking patronize me, Stiles, you piece of shit._ “So we don’t give him a choice. If I’m injured, I _can’t_ go.”

                “I think he’ll realize we’re lying about you being hurt.”

                “So we don’t lie.” _I think I could force it. You’d just have to promise not to go for the throat this time._

_NO._ “NO.” _No no no no. I won’t do it._

_You might have to._

_You could be hurt some other way._

_What won’t seem contrived? What will he believe? It has to be real, you said so yourself._

                _Derek, we can’t afford to weaken you now. Weaken you more. I need you._

“I don’t care.”

                Stiles fought back the urge to punch Derek. He wondered if Derek was making him violent yet or if he was just that way naturally. He wondered if it mattered.

                “We could do it in front of him. He might be so intrigued he forgets to worry about his plans,” Derek said. “I’ll heal quickly, but I can slow it while he’s there so long as you manage not to knock me out. Maybe he’ll believe I _can’t_ heal faster.”

                “No.”

                “It’s safer this way.”

                “What if the Riders block our bond again? Then we can’t use it as an excuse.”

                “I don’t think whatever they’re using can operate past a mountain ash barrier.”

                “That’s just a guess. Don’t deny it. I can read your mind.”

                “Then you can read that I think it’s a good guess."

                “I hate you.”

                “And I can read that you love me and wish you’d remembered to give me chocolate cake on my birthday, which you would have presented alongside a dog joke about whether I can eat chocolate.”

                Stiles did punch Derek that time.

                “I can also read that I don’t think you could stop me if I wanted us to fight hard enough. I can provoke you pretty easily.”

                Stiles scowled. “I almost killed you. What if I couldn’t stop?”

                “You’ll stop.”

                “But what if I don’t?”

                Derek hesitated. “Does it matter?”

                Stiles flinched. Another thing they tried to avoid.

                “Derek,” Stiles’ father said softly, stepping closer and leaning down like he could pretend at some sense of privacy in a room full of werewolves. “Son, are you suicidal?”

                Stiles tried to remember if his dad had ever called Derek ‘Son’ before.

                Derek shook his head. “Just apathetic.”

                “Depressed,” Stiles corrected, “he means depressed.”

                “Wow,” Aiden said, “you guys really are screwed the hell up, aren’t you?”

                Ethan told him, “Shut up,” as Lydia said, “I think they have a right to be.”

                Scott took the seat beside Stiles, vacant now that Stiles wasn’t lying across the couch. “Can you think of another way?”

                Stiles shook his head.

                “I don’t want Derek to get hurt either, but I can’t think of anything. And it was his idea.”

                Stiles’ dad turned away from watching Derek. “Has he ever hurt himself on purpose?”

                “No, Dad, he hasn’t. He doesn’t exactly need to.”

                _That didn’t seem private to you, but what I said did?_

_He was asking because if your plan was a form of self-harm, he’d veto it. Technically I helped your idea, which I still hate._

Derek struggled for what he wanted to say. Not even telepathy made forming his feelings into words easy. They weren’t supposed to fall apart like this now. It was supposed to happen after, when they came home to their pack and had a moment to breathe. Then they were supposed to put each other back together. But they didn’t, they couldn’t, they never had. He couldn’t imagine his life without Stiles anymore, but they’d had so few happy moments together. And now they’d learned they twisted their bond subconsciously, hurting each other more and more as time went on.

                “We’re going through with it,” Derek said. “We’ll tell them we’re going in with them, and we’ll fight about Peter. You’ll hurt me, not fatally, and you’ll leave me behind. I’ll stay with Lydia and help her stop as many people from dying as possible.” He gritted his teeth.

                _This time when it’s done, we’ll do better,_ Stiles promised. It felt like an apology for hurting Derek, but he hadn’t done it yet. Or had been hurting him all along. _If we have to, we’ll break the bond and date like normal people._

Derek didn’t want to break it. Neither did Stiles.

                _If we have to,_ Derek agreed.

 

**~.x.~**

 

Morrell left as soon as Stiles and Derek arrived. Stiles figured she wasn’t in the mood to talk about abandoning him to tattoo his face on his own. He trudged over to Lady Rider, scowling. “You’re sure his plan is the only way?” he asked as he unlocked her chains.

                “I would have told you if I had a better one. You had pretty good leverage.” She glared straight back at him. “You realize we can’t trust you now.”

                “You couldn’t before.”

                “We were led to believe otherwise.”

                Stiles chuckled. “Then you were lied to.”

                Rider rubbed at her freed wrists and stood. “I’m going to free my husband.”

                “Terms first.”

                “Really?”

                Stiles shrugged. “We’re going in with you, so I imagine we’ll have to be bound. We fake it as much as we can. At any instant when we can’t and have to be bound for real, you undo it as soon as possible. And we are not fighting some psycho Watchtower leader and his partner to the death. That’s stupid.”

                “Agreed. _Now_ I’m going to free my husband.” She stalked to his ash circle and broke the line with her foot.

                Stiles approached Peter’s circle next, but Derek stopped him with a hand to his chest. “We can’t trust him,” Derek growled.

                “We don’t have a lot of choice.”

                “We can leave him. No one else knows Sorokin bonded him. We can keep him as leverage to make sure Sorokin doesn’t double cross us.”

                “I don’t think Haha, No cares about his wellbeing all that much. And, even if he did, we’re not using Peter against an evil jerk-off who we know will probably betray us anyway, forcing us to kill him.”

                “So what you’re saying is we definitely need Peter as leverage and should just get started now.”

                Stiles snarled. “I’m saying we’re not hurting him.”

                “What do you care? You’re the one who bound him to Sorokin in the first place.” Derek leaned forward, baring his teeth and staring straight into Stiles’ eyes. They hadn’t rehearsed the fight. They hadn’t needed to. The reality of it set them both on edge.

                “Then maybe I feel responsible. Maybe it’s my fault he’s in danger now.”

                “Yes,” Peter piped up. “You’re responsible for me now, though I’m not against staying behind so long as it doesn’t end in my getting hurt.”

                “Shut up, Peter,” Stiles and Derek barked in unison.

                Derek turned back to Stiles. “You don’t feel responsible. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.”

                _We don’t have to go there,_ Stiles thought. He still wanted to be friends with Peter when this was over, assuming they survived.

                _Yes, we do._

“I’m in your head, Stiles, and I know you’re sick of me. I know you’d like to try him back on, maybe try more on him than you got to before.” Derek sneered, eyes wide with betrayal. Neither of them could tell anymore if Stiles wanted Peter or if Derek was just afraid he did. Maybe it didn’t matter. Stiles felt Derek’s disgust at the idea of Stiles and Peter together rise in the back of his throat, and he bit it down, shoving Derek out of his face.

                “I don’t want anything from him, and you know it. You’re just afraid I don’t want anything from you anymore either.”

                “But you do. You want a little bit of everything...”

                _Can we just skip to the stabbing you part now?_

“A little bit of every _one.”_

_How long does it take to convince them I want to kill you?_

“No, Derek, it doesn’t get to be my fault that you’re so fucking wrecked emotionally that you have to assume everyone who loves you is going to betray you.”

                “Why are you willing to risk everything else to switch our plans just to protect him? Not yourself, not me, not your friends or father. Just Peter.”

                “The plan is already made to keep as many people from getting hurt as possible. Why are you so desperate to throw him in harm’s way? Are you really that jealous that he bonded me first?” Stiles hissed the last. He knew Peter could still hear and hoped Haha, No could too.

                “Maybe I’m just confused why you let him.”

                Stiles smoothed his features, made them cold, and took a step back. “Why wouldn’t I?” His voice was calm, steady. At the back of his mind, Derek twitched, but Stiles didn’t let himself feel what he wanted to point out.

                “Maybe because he’s a psychopath who had just bitten the girl you thought you loved and wanted to turn your best friend into a killer.”

                “But he was powerful. And he let me choose.”

                “That isn’t enough, Stiles.”

                “When he offered me the bite, I said I didn’t want to be like him.” Stiles paused, licked his lips to buy time. “I lied.” He’d never regretted his decision. He’d made it again when Derek offered him the bite. His words became true later, but they hadn’t been when he said them. Past Derek, Stiles saw Peter smirk. Stiles had never admitted to lying before. “The bond was a subconscious way to be like him without accepting the bite from the guy who forced it on Scott and Lydia.”

                “If you wanted the bite, I’d have given it to you.”

                “I don’t want the bite. I don’t want to be a werewolf. I want to be powerful.” Stiles felt the grin spread over his face as his eyes went wide.

                Derek flinched, retreating from Stiles physically and mentally. _We should have scripted something,_ he thought, too taken aback to respond aloud.

                “Can you make me powerful, Derek?” Stiles asked, stepping forward into the space Derek vacated.

                “You used it on me,” Derek muttered.

                “That’s not an answer.”

                “You stunned everyone earlier. Everyone. It shouldn’t have worked on me.”

                “It took you that long to realize that?” _Why did it work on you?_

_You didn’t notice either?_

_We were distracted._

“What did you do?” Derek asked aloud.

                “Nothing. I didn’t have to. Because you don’t make me powerful, Derek. You make me weak.” His eye twitched, an old tic from the arena. Stiles hoped Haha, No recognized it.

                Derek shook his head. “And you make me sick,” he said softly, like the last line of a fight he’d given up long ago. “But you can’t have him. He’s already bound.”

                “That doesn’t mean I have to settle for you.” _This is a lie,_ he thought desperately. _This is a lie. This is a lie. I’ll come back. He’ll know if we lie. I love you. This is a lie._

_Stiles, don’t—_

                Stiles activated his talisman. Derek froze, raising his hands toward Stiles, mouth open even though he’d been thinking, not speaking. Behind him, Peter froze. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw the Riders, frozen, watching. Haha, No was on his right side. With no line of sight to the talisman, he was safe from it, if still bound to a pillar. He chuckled, shoulders shaking. Stiles reached for Derek’s face, set a hand against his cheek and let go with a sigh.

                The bond broke.

                Derek shattered. Stiles became hollow.

                Someone screamed. Derek. He fell. Stiles thought he should have felt something. He didn’t. Nothing from Derek. Nothing from himself. Derek was on the ground, hands and knees against cement, like he’d taken all of their emotions with him. Maybe he had. Stiles looked at the hand he had set against Derek’s face. Derek’s hands clenched at his hair as he sobbed, abandoned, betrayed.

                “I’m not weak anymore,” Stiles said, voice steady and cold. “You are.”

                Derek turned his head to face Stiles with his eyes glowing, fangs showing past snarling lips. He lunged, but Stiles dodged. It wasn’t that Derek was slow so much as that Stiles remembered being part of him, remembered his rage and his attacks, and knew how to predict him.

                “You should stay behind, Derek. Help Lydia try to sense people dying with her... whatever her thing is. It never made sense to me.” Stiles nodded to himself. “I can do this myself.” _Now Haha, No can’t make us fight as a pair,_ he thought, but Derek couldn’t hear it.

                Derek stormed from the warehouse. Stiles didn’t know if he’d go through with the plan. He didn’t know anything. He wanted to chase Derek down, to take their bond back, to let it break and suffocate him just for the chance to feel Derek again.

                Stiles turned away to face Haha, No. If they finished this, the bond wouldn’t have to hurt him. He and Derek could be happy. Or at least the other bonded pairs could. Stiles kicked aside the ash encircling Haha, No and stepped into the broken circle to unlock Haha, No’s restraints. Haha, No alternated between frowning and chuckling. Stiles took that as a good sign. Maybe they had surprised him.


	4. Command

Stiles walked beside Peter because he thought it fit his act better. Also Peter was his friend, and the other three were enemies. Haha, No frowned more and more as he watched Stiles, and Stiles let himself hope it was a good thing, a sign that he’d outsmarted the mad scientist at last. The Riders ignored them more than seemed reasonable, focusing entirely on scouting and setting their course to avoid contact with Watchtower agents. Other Watchtower agents. Just because they worked for Wind didn’t mean they couldn’t be playing both sides.

                “We’re close now,” Lady Rider said, rejoining the group from ahead. “We’ll have to restrain you to get you in.”

                Stiles nodded. She had agreed to unbind him as soon as they infiltrated the base, but if she didn’t, Stiles planned to use his talisman to give him and Peter a running start. All he had to do was get away. Danny was the hacker, Chris the distraction, and Allison the backup. Stiles was redundant once the others tracked him to the base. Unless he wanted the president dead or captured. No one believed it was a foolproof plan, but it couldn’t hurt. Would Haha, No and the Riders go through with it without Stiles, or would they just chase him down instead?

                Well, Stiles was redundant. He could do whatever he wanted.

                He texted Scott to say, _Close now. Ditching phone._ He dropped it into the undergrowth of the forest. If he took the phone too close, he was sure Watchtower would have a way to block the signal. Out here, he hoped the others could still use the GPS to track it if they couldn’t track him. The Riders and Peter didn’t know to leave a trail.

                “Phone,” Haha, No said. “Explain.”

                “So if I don’t get back home, they have a starting place to find me from this time. At least until the battery runs out.” He shrugged. “I don’t exactly trust you.”

                Haha, No chuckled.

                “Who did you text?” Peter asked.

                “Scott. Who do you think?” Stiles rolled his eyes like it was obvious. Maybe he should have texted Derek. _I miss you,_ he thought, but there was no one to hear it.

                Lady Rider cuffed Stiles, Peter, and Haha, No as Lord Rider watched.

                “We don’t exactly look like we’ve been bested and captured,” Peter noted.

                “Good point,” Lady Rider said. She punched Peter. And punched him again. And again. When he fell, she kicked him. By the time she stopped, he was a bloody mess.

                Then it was Stiles’ turn. It hurt distantly. Everything felt distant now. After Rider let him stand again, he rammed his forehead against her face. “No one would believe you took us out without even a little trouble,” Stiles said with a smile.

                Lady Rider spat blood and scowled at him. “Come on,” she said. Haha, No was already a mess of bruises and cuts from Lady’s interrogation at the warehouse.

                Stiles expected more trouble getting in. He noticed perimeter guards or scouts or maybe ninjas—well, probably not ninjas since he noticed them—as they approached, but none challenged them. At the entrance, a big boring gate, the guard eyed them all like a bad actor in an espionage movie and waved them through once the Riders announced their prisoners. The gate locking behind them made Stiles a little nervous.

                “I don’t remember actual entry points,” he noted.

                “That’s because I think they’re tacky,” Haha, No said. “I always preferred way more obtuse and complicated security measures.”

                Stiles hesitated. “I can’t tell if you’re self-aware or making fun of me.”

                Peter chuckled. “Dimitri knows exactly how stupid he is. It just never bit him in the ass until he met you. It _did_ make Wind operations a little easier.”

                Haha, No groaned. “Sometimes I hate that you still remember most of what you stole from me.”

                “I love you too, sweetie.”

                “All of you shut up already,” Lord Rider said. “You’re going to be tortured and probably killed. Stop taking it blithely.”

                Stiles stuck his tongue at Lord but otherwise shut his mouth. He caught Peter and Haha, No rolling their eyes and snickering while Lady Rider sighed. A few more turns into the complex, the Riders stopped them to unlock their cuffs.

                “Hold your arms like you’re still bound,” Lady Rider warned. “And don’t accidentally relock these or I’m going to laugh at you instead of unlocking them again.”

                “You don’t have to humor the morons, you know,” Lord Rider said.

                “I’m having fun, though.”

                Lord Rider sighed, and Stiles got the feeling he would be the butt of Lady’s jokes were they alone.

                “I’m sure you realize Wight and I couldn’t set a proper rendezvous,” Haha, No said.

                “Wight’s alive?” Stiles asked.

                “Yes,” Lord Rider said. “And by all accounts, _someone_ broke enough bones in her face to ruin it. I bet she’s ready to return the favor.” That had been Stiles during the fight that ended in his escape from Haha, No’s training facility. He’d beaten Wight so brutally he had half believed it killed her. She’d hated him even before that because he and Derek killed her partner Bleeder. Stiles thought Wight helping them might be more a bad sign than a good one, at least for his health if not the plan.

                “Now who’s having fun,” Lady Rider muttered. She turned to Haha, No, “Wind will find us once the diversion arrives. If Wight is smart, she’ll be with them.”

                An alarm blared distantly, followed by a closer wail and flash of red light.

                “Speak of the devil,” Haha, No said, laughing.

                “Shut up and follow,” Lord Rider said. “We need to get further in before they seal away the president.”

                A figure stalked into the hall from the far end ahead of them. “Rider? What the hell is wrong with you?” She shrieked above the alarm. “We _told_ you not to bring them here.” She was backlit at the end of the hall, but Stiles recognized her voice and made out her features as she moved closer. It was Cole, the researcher who had worked with Haha, No at the training facility Stiles last escaped from.

                “And we told you they were too hard to contain,” Lady Rider replied, bristling. “Are you going to help us cage them now, or stand there while the base goes to shit?”

Cole stopped just ahead of them, hands on her hips and scowl on her face. Stiles noted that her name badge read ‘Jenneva Cole,’ not whatever joke Haha, No made her use when she worked for him. “Those three are the worst security threat known to Watchtower, and you bring them _here._ Against orders. We can’t afford—where’s Derek Hale?”

                “He got away. I told you we couldn’t make it.”

                “And you just let him go?”

                “Our choices were lose one recently _un_ bonded werewolf or lose all four prisoners and probably our lives.”

                Cole jerked her eyes from Lady to Stiles. “Kill all but Sorokin,” she said. “Now.”

                Lady Rider reached immediately for her sidearm, but Stiles activated his talisman. He dropped his unlatched cuffs and drew Lord Rider’s belt knife in one motion, sliding forward to slam Cole against the wall and the blade against her throat.

                “Do we need her alive?” he asked calmly.

                Haha, No stepped up beside him. From the corner of his eye, Stiles saw him grinning wildly.

                “Rider,” Cole said, voice shaking. “Your priority is to contain the threat at all costs. There are more important agents here than you and me.”

                Haha, No laughed. “Why do you think we forced them to bring us here?”

                “Sorokin, you—”

                “THAT’S NOT MY NAME!” He screamed, shaking.

                “It’s sort of you name,” Peter said.

                “No, it’s not. It used to be; it was supposed to be. It’s not.”

                Stiles wanted to groan but knew they’d get through this quicker by playing along with Haha, No’s crazy. “His name is No,” he said, and beside him, Haha, No beamed. “And I suggest you convince him why we need you alive before he names you dead.”

                Cole wet her lips nervously. “You’re working for him?”

                “Other way around, Cole,” Haha, No said.

                “Seriously? You’re working for your own test subject?”

                “He’s a very good test subject.”

                “Dude, just tell me if I’m killing her. This is getting old.” Stiles wanted to frown, but he grinned for Cole.

                “We don’t need her.” It wasn’t Haha, No who spoke. It was a woman who entered the hall from a door several yards down. Stiles recognized her voice as easily as he had Cole’s. Wight.

                Stiles waited.

                Haha, No took his handcuffs and used them to bind Cole’s hands behind her back. Stiles backed off, still holding the blade, but no longer threatening Cole with it.

                “We don’t need her, sir. She’ll just slow us down,” Wight insisted.

                Haha, No ignored her. “Open that door.” He motioned to a door past Wight’s and waited until she sighed and did as ordered. “Joker, I want you to stab Cole, not fatally, and then knock her out.”

                Stiles gave him a look like he was crazy but complied. “How much later is it you think she’ll be useful?”

                Haha, No shrugged. “That depends on if they burn this place to the ground with her in it or not.”

                “I’m not taking them out just to let you continue their work.”

                Haha, No laughed as he dragged Cole over and shoved her, unconscious and bleeding, into what turned out to be a janitor’s closet.

                “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” Stiles asked.

                “I toured the facilities in California extensively before choosing which one I wanted as my own. I also studied schematics and security protocols.”

                Stiles eyed Peter. “I thought you said he wasn’t much use right before I killed him.”

                “I lied.”

                Lady Rider said, “We need to keep moving. Wight, show the way.”

                Wight nodded, and Stiles took his first good look at her face. Parts of it had gotten back into place, but she was crooked and scarred where she’d been symmetrical and smooth-skinned before. He wondered if she hated him even more because she’d been pretty before he beat her, and he wondered if she cared that he was fighting for his life, not ruining her face for fun. She scowled as he watched her and turned sharply to lead them back the way she had come.

                This facility was all in gunmetal grey and had numbers on each of the doors. A few even had names written on neat cards slotted into the doors or on bits of masking tape hanging crookedly beside them. 102 Rainmaker and Gnasher. 115 Athena and Rakes. The names on room 127 were both crossed out. Stiles thought they used to be Loki and Raph. No one else paid much mind to the doors, and even straining his ears, Stiles heard nothing from behind them. Instinct told him to ask Derek, but he couldn’t. He considered asking Peter but thought speaking aloud would be too dangerous.

                Wight turned them down a hall, through another door, and down a staircase. Stiles rolled his shoulders nervously. He didn’t like being below ground. He wondered why Haha, No thought they could trust Wight a second before he wondered when he’d begun to care who Haha, No trusted. Peter set a hand over Stiles’ shoulder for a moment to calm him.

                “Wight,” Haha, No asked softly as they walked. “Did you get her?”

                “Of course I got her. It took a little longer to find an alpha, but lucky for me, you took your sweet time getting back. She’s ready to go once we have Garcia. I bonded Brynn so no one else could, and I’m ready to release it.” Stiles guessed Garcia was the president and Brynn his partner-to-be.

                “Do you know where the cult leader is?”

                “The president is in lockdown, as he should be when the base is under attack.” Wight didn’t hesitate over Haha, No using a different title for the president.

                “Wind or Watchtower guards?”

                “Neither.” Wight smiled. “Or both. They’re yours.”

                Haha, No laughed. “You’ve been busy.”

                “I knew the likes of Joker couldn’t keep you away forever.”

                Stiles stuck his tongue at her back.

                “Very mature,” Peter whispered, so Stiles stuck his tongue at him too.

                Haha, No glanced back and chuckled. “Joker couldn’t stay away either.”

                “She’s behind this door,” Wight said, setting her hand against the handle of a door that looked exactly like all the others.

                It’s number was 253. There was no name on it. Haha, No motioned for her to go in ahead of them, and for Peter to enter second. Peter complied with a shrug.

                “When did we make you leader?” Stiles asked softly, leaning close to Haha, No’s ear.

                “It’s always been my plan. Peter thinks it’s safe.”

                They followed him into a large room filled with dust and equipment. A lot of it looked like the sort Haha, No would have liked. Stiles shivered and focused on the woman standing beside Wight. She was pale and blonde with a sallow sort of prettiness and more fear than rage behind her eyes.

                “Who are these people?” she asked Wight in more of a hiss than a whisper. “Why are they here?”

                Wight pointed to Haha, No. “This is the one who asked me to bring you here.”

                He stepped forward, lifting a hand to shake Brynn’s. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Naramsin. My name is No.” He smiled, and Stiles thought it might have been the first time he’d introduced himself with the right name without making it a joke.

                Brynn took his hand hesitantly but shook it firmly. “Wight won’t tell me why I’m here, or why...” She hesitated. “Why she made that thing bite me.”

                “For Wayne Garcia’s benefit, of course,” Haha, No said. “Do you know much of his work?”

                “Only the pieces Wight has told me about a question and monsters. It seems sort of... Well, what’s the point of measuring only humans and werewolves when there are other monsters out there too?”

                “Shapeshifters have already been deemed more worthy than other monsters,” Haha, No waved a hand, dismissing the question. “They have the ideal balance between human intelligence and destructive power.”

                “Are you saying Wayne’s answer is werewolves, and that’s why you turned me?” She arched an eyebrow. Stiles bet she’d been with Wight a while to be this composed despite her obvious fear.

                “No. The answer is a little more complicated than that, a little more teamwork related, cheesy as it sounds. Our cult leader will have to stay human if he wants to take over your bond and join us.”

                “Us?”

                “The winners.” He grinned. “The proven. The answer.”

                “You are a very dramatic man. Wight didn’t mention it before.”

                Stiles nudged Haha, No, “I think that means she’d like an actual answer this time. And quickly. I want to get moving again.” Standing in a room talking, even in an unused room, made him nervous. They were wasting time and giving Watchtower a chance to find and corner them.

                Haha, No shook his head like Stiles had disappointed him. “The answer to Watchtower’s great species debate is not one or the other, but both working together through the bond. They were right that only the strongest deserve to survive but mistook how to measure that strength. Those of us who fought in the arena were made stronger by our bonds and proved ourselves the strongest by winning.”

                “You want us to fight?” Brynn half-whispered, struggling to keep her voice down.

                Haha, No nodded.

                “That’s insane.”

                “It’s survival of the fittest. Let’s find your boyfriend and get on with it.” He turned, grinning smugly and led the way from the room. It was entirely for dramatic flair since he had to let Wight lead the way again once they left the room. Brynn followed, mouth working silently.

                They heard shooting ahead and ducked down a side corridor. “We need to get lower,” Wight said.

                “You’re leading,” Stiles growled, “so lead us lower.”

                Wight gave him a nasty glare but kept her silence.

 

**~.x.~**

 

“This is too easy,” Stiles muttered. They’d stayed ahead of the fighting, but he gripped Rider’s knife so tight his knuckles turned white. His hand shook.

                “This seems _easy_ to you?” Brynn asked.

                “Everything has gone according to plan.”

                “I don’t want to see what you think is hard.”

                Haha, No suggested, “Maybe you’ve just never had the benefit of a decently mad tactician before.”

                “I’m only giving you credit when it all goes wrong,” Stiles said.

                “Will you all shut the hell up before we get killed,” Wight groaned. “The shift should change any second now, and we can go in. But until they do, the guards standing literally just down the hall will kill all of us if they find us here.”

                “You mean they’ll try,” Stiles corrected.

                Wight gritted her teeth and shook with rage. Stiles had found she wouldn’t speak to him directly.

                Peter leaned against Stiles’ back to whisper in his ear, “Stop making the guide angry.”

                “I do that just by existing,” he said under his breath.

                Peter chuckled silently, but Stiles felt it run through his body. They were crammed into a storage closet, but it was a large closet. Peter didn’t have to be quite so close, but neither of them moved away. Stiles closed his eyes with a sigh and leaned his weight against Peter to see if he’d move. He stayed. No one said anything about it. Stiles waited, counting his own breaths for something to do as Peter’s breath brushed his ear.

                “Let’s go,” Wight said eventually. “These two are ours.” She slipped out of the door, and Peter moved gently away from Stiles to follow her. Stiles went third, leaving the others to follow in whatever order they liked.

                The guards at the door wore sharp maroon uniforms. They both readied suitably intimidating guns at Wight’s approach, but Stiles noticed the one on the left’s eyes glowed blue.

                Wight lifted both hands slowly and set one into a thumb pointing behind her. “Two riders were approaching,” she said.

                The werewolf nodded as both guards lowered their weapons. “The wind began to howl.”

                “That’s something I honestly never thought I’d get to hear,” Haha, No said.

                The human smiled wickedly. “It’s thanks to you, sir. Even Wind wasn’t fighting anymore before you came, not _really_ fighting.”

                “Less talk, more subterfuge,” Stiles said. When the guard looked at him like he’d blasphemed, Stiles raised his empty hand in a small wave. “Hi, I’m Joker, nice to meet you. Let me through the fucking door.”

                The guards both jumped to attention and saluted. “Sorry, sir, we hadn’t, uh, seen your face before.” He opened the door and avoided looking Stiles in the eye.

                “You told your soldiers to call me ‘sir’?”

                Haha, No grinned. “Of course.”

                “Last you knew, I was trying to kill you.”

                “No doubt you still are.”

                “You’re insane.”

                Haha, No shrugged. “So are you.”

                Stiles had no response to that and followed Haha, No silently through the door. Inside were more soldiers, and each bore the rook patch Haha, No gave to his bonded soldiers, the ones they called princes in the news report.

                “Those two aren’t mine,” Haha, No said pointing to a pair of women standing near an unoccupied bench. Soldiers—princes—took hold of them instantly.

                “What the hell are you doing, Sorokin?” asked the only unpaired person in the room. He was older than the others, maybe midway through his fifties, latino, and dressed in a suit that no doubt cost more than Stiles’ car.

                “I’m bringing you the answer, Wayne. Sorry I’m late.”

                “We already chose humans.”

                “Like I said, late.”

                “Someone get him out of my sight,” the president said, waving a hand at Haha, No.

                No one moved.

                “They sort of work for me,” Haha, No pointed out. “So I’m afraid you’ll just have to listen. Rider.” At the last word, the Riders shut and barred the door. The president was trapped now with Joker and five bonded enemy pairs, including his newly-turned girlfriend. His only allies would be the two women already being cuffed and put under guard.

                The president sighed. “You’re not going to convince me werewolves are stronger than humans. Even your own research shows it’s more common for humans to be dominant in their bonds.”

                “Then it’s a good thing that’s not what we’re here to do,” Stiles said, dropping onto the bench like he wasn’t just as trapped as the president. He should have run sooner. The plan was to run sooner. But he didn’t trust Haha, No enough to let him out of his sight.

                Stiles studied the room as Haha, No began his spiel about bonded pairs and power and superiority. The door they came through was the only exit, but he noted a vent placed high on each wall. All were too small to crawl through. A series of LED screens on the back wall showed various security feeds from the building. Stiles spotted several men and women he didn’t know fighting with Watchtower soldiers both inside and outside the compound and assumed those must be Argent’s hunters. He found Cat and Allison fighting in a hallway against a squad of soldiers, but Isaac wasn’t with them. He couldn’t see Danny’s team. If they were lucky, that was because Danny had been able to hack the system remotely. More likely it meant Danny was covering their tracks or they’d been killed already. Stiles doubted they’d had enough time to steal the files they wanted and escape already. Even more strangers fought in obvious pairs, human and werewolf. Those would be the escaped prisoners. He even saw a few pairs wearing the slacks and boots of Watchtower’s uniform, though they’d thrown away their jackets.

                “That’s a load of bullshit,” the president said when Haha, No finished.

                “No, it’s not. My tests prove it, and I know you’ve read over my data. The bond makes us stronger. Why else would you have chosen _my_ soldiers to protect you?”

                Peter joined Stiles on the bench. “He has a point,” he said, “though it did work more to our benefit than yours.”

                “Who are you supposed to be?”

                “I’m his new partner,” Peter waved at Haha, No. “The one who brought him back from the dead after you were lazy enough to lose him.”

                “Another benefit of the bond, though maybe not available to all.” Haha, No grinned. “Maybe available to you. The bond becomes what you need.”

                “We both know this bond behaves differently depending on how much you’ve interfered,” the president said.

                “Then it’s lucky for you I never stop interfering.”

                “What did you do?”

                “It’s just a frequency, mostly harmless. If it’s emitted at the moment when you form the bond, it increases the power. If you’re exposed to it before the bond is formed, it can increase your psychic potential, so to speak.”

                “Just a frequency?”

                “Well, a series of them. They work best when used constantly for a period of time. I never got to do much with this pattern and Joker since he bound Peter before Beast, but Beast was the first subject I was able to subject to the frequencies for a significant amount of time without a bond.”

                Stiles leaned forward. A frequency was just a sound. A bunch of _sounds_ was what ruined him and Derek? He didn’t realize he’d whispered the question aloud until Haha, No answered.

                “Did you know that if someone is put into a completely silent room—and I mean utterly soundproof and empty—the only thing they can hear is the functioning of their own body. The silence eventually drives them mad. It’s not like being deaf and unable to hear, it’s being able to hear only a very specific sound after years of normal hearing. So, yes, a _sound_ formed you two for me.”

                The president spun around the seat before the wall of screens and relaxed into it. “This is all very nice, Dimitri, but—”

                Haha, No shouted, “THAT IS NOT MY NAME. My name is No.”

                The president sighed like Haha, No had finally lost it. “Yes, No, sorry. My point is we’re looking for inherent superiority, not turning everyone alive into one of your experiments. It’s not like werewolves will instantly stop existing. You can still have your fun this way. And your Joker too. He’s still human, isn’t he?”

                “I’m not,” Brynn said. “Still human.”

                “I realized that when he began talking about the bond, dear, and I’m sorry, but there is no cure.”

                “I thought you loved her,” Wight said.

                “Just because you’re human doesn’t mean I won’t have you done away with,” the president snapped. “I loved her, but you condemned her.”

                “Sorry.” Stiles stood up. “I’m confused. At what point did we let you think you had any say in what happens or that you’ll leave this room alive if you don’t do what we want.” He raised his hands. “I want to make sure we’re not misrepresenting ourselves, you see.”

                “You are the plaything of a demented child, Joker. I am the most powerful man in the world.”

                Haha, No muttered, “Well, that won’t do.”

                “No, it won’t,” Stiles agreed. He walked over to the president and lifted Rider’s knife. “Please stay still,” he said, activating his talisman. He wondered what signal the president had to indicate he wanted backup and who could possibly be watching for it. It mattered little now since he couldn’t signal without moving.

                Stiles set the knife in the corner of the president’s mouth and tugged to the side slowly. Blood flowed freely past his chin, but the president didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. He couldn’t. Stiles traced out the same smile Haha, No had threatened him with before onto the president’s face and stepped back to admire the bleeding gash before the president could move again.

                The talisman’s effects wore off and the president screamed, reaching for his mouth and curling tightly in on himself as he collapse to the floor. Stiles watched dispassionately. Haha, No laughed.

                Brynn rushed forward to wrap her arms around the president, and Stiles realized that Wight had been holding her back. He’d only frozen the president. Brynn’s hands pressed against the visible portions of the president’s face, and black veins climbed her arms as she took his pain. The screams subsided into whimpers.

                “Why did you hurt him?” Brynn demanded through her tears.

                “He was cocky.” Stiles thought that was obvious. “If you bond him now, he should heal better. He might not even scar since healing is what he needs most.”

                “He’s right,” Wight said. “Do it now. Save him.”

                “He’s not actually dying,” Stiles pointed out.

                “Shut up, Joker.” Stiles couldn’t tell if she actually cared about Brynn or was just angry he’d goaded her into speaking to him.

                After a moment, Brynn said, “It’s done.”

                “Who in here was going to betray us?” Stiles asked. “Had he been capable of signaling them.”

                One of the soldiers stepped forward. “He thought it would be me, sir.” She had a black rook on her patch. The black rooks signaled humans and white rooks shifters.

                “And what’s supposed to convince me you won’t betray me like you planned, or like you’ve betrayed him?” Stiles reclaimed his seat beside Peter on the bench, lounging to seem as unaffected as possible. He should have been more on edge than he was, he thought.

                “I was in the View with you. They called me Setter, though I don’t think I was around long enough for you to notice me. I escaped after your friend freed us. They captured and retrained me at the camp you escaped from.” She paused, eyeing Stiles. “What I’m saying is, I know better than to get on your bad side.”

                “Your partner?”

                A young man stepped forward, several years younger than Setter and several shades lighter of skin, though still much darker than Stiles. He bore the white rook. “Sir, I’m a newer recruit, assigned to Setter as part of Remix. Second successful match-up in the project.”

                “Setter,” Stiles said, “I was a prisoner. Assuming your training was complete, or near it, your job was to guard me, not defer to me. Why are you calling me ‘sir’?” Setter glanced at Haha, No. “Talk to me, not him.”

                “With respect, sir, you weren’t a prisoner. You were a trainee like the rest of us. We were to assist with your training while at the camp, but we all knew you’d outrank us in the end.”

                Stiles shifted his stare to Haha, No. “You really thought you’d make me work for Watchtower?”

                “No, I thought I make you work for me. And here we are.” He raised his hands and grinned.

                Stiles realized Haha, No had lied to Cole for Stiles’ benefit. He wasn’t working for Stiles or Scott’s pack. He was working for himself, and Stiles was just another one of his lackeys now. Stiles grinned as hard as he knew how and wished he’d killed Haha, No again.

                “Oh, good,” Haha, No said, “he’s coming to. Hello, Wayne. Shall we start again?”

                The president groaned as Brynn helped him sit, pressing a piece of cloth torn from her shirt against the wound of his mouth.

                “He needs me to talk for him,” Brynn said.

                “Then please do,” Haha, No agreed. “Wayne, I know you believe in the mission. A lot of our people don’t. They’ve forgotten or never cared or just gotten distracted by all the fun we’re having. But not you. I know you don’t really believe it’s humans. I know something like the military move was in the plans regardless, and no doubt you intend the werewolves to be discovered and eradicated, but I’m just going to ask one more time why you surrounded yourself with princes instead of human soldiers.”

                Brynn hesitated, glancing toward the president. “He wants me to say Cole assigned his guard. This is her facility, and it’s not a lie. But he could have told her he wanted humans. He didn’t. He knows the pairs are stronger.” The president glared at her, and Brynn returned it sharply. “Well, you do.”

                “And now he’s part of a pair. No doubt he’s already noticed some of the advantages.” Haha, No grinned.

                “You mean like how fast he’s healing and having someone to speak for him?” Peter asked.

                “Exactly like those.”

                Stiles rolled his eyes at how orchestrated the exchange sounded. He wasn’t sure how much detail Haha, No and Peter could use while communicating through their bond, but he knew Haha, No had told Peter to speak.

                “You can’t make the whole world fight in your arenas,” Brynn said. “Watchtower is dedicated to making us strong, not controlling us.”

                “First of all, I want you to take a quick look at Joker and tell me that my control doesn’t make people strong.” Haha, No paused. The president looked at Stiles, but Brynn kept her mouth squeezed into a thin line. “Second, it would obviously be a system to enact for leadership roles, not everyone. Maybe someday everyone could have an arena match to prove themselves. If life were a movie, it’d definitely happen, and a daring young woman would overthrow my tyranny. But all I’m saying right now is that I know the answer, and we should hold our leadership to it. All leadership. Only the best deserve to lead us.”

                “You’re just trying to get us killed off,” Brynn said. “But there’s a whole board. Killing even Wayne won’t stop Watchtower.”

                “You’re not just going to fight a random pair and die,” Stiles said with a groan. “Honestly, how dense can you be? You’re going to require the entire organization to live up to this standard, and then you’re all going to kill each other off in pairs. Or you could choose to fight your captives and die by their hands, I don’t care. Put them in charge. Just stop wasting my time.” He realized Haha, No had never really intended Stiles to fight the president. Rider never said he had, only nodded silently when Stiles suggested it himself. This plan made more sense, in a super villain logic kind of way, and Stiles had no doubt he’d finally gotten it right. They were supposed to be destroying Watchtower though, not reorganizing it.

                “Joker can be blunt,” Haha, No said. “But he’s right. If all I wanted was you dead, you would be, and poor Brynn would be safely at home wondering why you haven’t visited.”

Stiles scratched absently at the arm of his bench wondering _why_ Haha, No didn’t want the president dead. He wanted revenge as much as Stiles, maybe a different kind of revenge, but still revenge against Watchtower. Maybe it was petty. Maybe Haha, No just wanted the man to suffer the way he’d suffered. Maybe Haha, No wanted the world to suffer.

                “He wants to order you all killed,” Brynn said as the president’s eyes bulged. “But he can’t, and he also wants to prove himself. He likes your standard for its brutality, and he likes your answer because he believes it. But he doesn’t believe he can win in a fight.”

                They were fanatics, even Wayne Garcia in his fancy suit. Stiles thought Haha, No had been right to call him a cult leader instead of a president. This must be how Haha, No planned to cauterize the wound and keep the hydra from growing new heads. He would turn their fanaticism inward and make them kill each other until there wasn’t enough of the Watchtower left to stand. Could that work? Stiles bit his lip, studying the determined gleam in Brynn’s eyes even though he couldn’t see the president’s face clearly as he curled into himself trying to escape the pain of his expanded smile. He knew killing one man wouldn’t work. Watchtower was too big. Maybe Haha, No’s plan would work and maybe it wouldn’t, but it had a better chance than killing Wayne Garcia now. Stiles still hoped Danny’s team succeeded. That version of the plan would be less bloody.

                Stiles sighed and stood again, walking toward the president who shuffled backward. Brynn held him in place, and Stiles could practically hear her telling the president to man up and face him. Stiles took the president by the shoulder, “Look, Smiler—can I call you Smiler?—lucky for you, the humans you’ll be facing are your kind, not mine. All you have to do is not die long enough for your badass werewolf girlfriend to save your ass. The point is that at the end of it, you become my kind.”

                Brynn nodded. “I can fight. Wight has been training me.” Odd, Stiles had thought Haha, No meant for their team to lose. He must have been losing his touch with as many times as he’d misunderstood Haha, No in the past day alone.

                “You’ll need a name too,” Stiles told Brynn. “This changes us, makes us into something new. You’ll be a warrior, his protector. Choose a name that makes you feel strong.” He felt dirty. It was a softer version of what Haha, No did to his victims, but it was close enough. Stiles was making these two into monsters, giving them stupid names and making them kill to live. But this was what he had to do to stop Watchtower.

                “I want to be Nike,” she said, “the goddess of victory.”

                “And may it serve you well.” Stiles forced himself to smile softly. Brynn—Nike—seemed encouraged. Smiler mostly seemed scared.

                Stiles wasn’t sure what else Haha, No needed of them or where their plans went from here. He stood and turned away from Nike and Smiler, but Haha, No didn’t seem ready to leave yet. He approached and passed Stiles to kneel with his newest recruits. They began talking about details and schedules and requirements. Stiles returned to his bench, but Peter caught him on the way back into his seat and pulled him into his lap instead. Peter set his nose against Stiles neck and breathed in deeply.

                “Did Derek ever tell you we can smell emotion?” He asked softly, lips pressed to Stiles’ skin.

                “Sort of. Is this some kind of test?”

                “Yes. You smell good. Conflict and power are good on you.”

                Stiles squirmed, but Peter held on tightly. With his face buried in Stiles neck, Peter couldn’t be affected by the talisman either. Stiles felt his heart race as he realized he couldn’t get away. He was under Peter’s power. This wasn’t a situation he could trick his way out of. He forced himself to breath slowly. Peter was his friend. Peter wasn’t going to hurt him. Peter was working for Haha, No. Well, so was Stiles now. So was everyone here. And Stiles was one of his commanders, if he’d understood correctly.

                “Do I need to call Setter over to spray you with a bottle?” Stiles asked softly. He noticed Setter’s partner jump and stare at them before carefully turning back to Haha, No and Smiler.

                “No.” One of Peter’s hands let Stiles go only to settle on his thigh. “But offering is only part of the answer.”

                “Am I supposed to decide right now in front of all these people?”

                “You know I can’t make the rules until he lets me go.” His hand inched higher up Stiles’ leg. “He’d let me go to you, you know. You’re his favorite.”

                Stiles sighed. “Peter, stop. You’re a very pretty werewolf, but I’m sort of in love with someone else.”

                “Only sort of?”

                “We have a very dysfunctional relationship made all the worse by the fact that we both hate ourselves. We’re working through it.”

                “And you’re not attracted to me at all?”

                “I’m _very_ attracted to you. I just don’t want to be with you.”

                Stiles felt Peter’s lips spread into a grin against his neck as he pulled both of his hands back from Stiles. Stiles moved slowly to his own side of the bench even though he wanted to scramble. Peter had grabbed him too easily. Stiles had let his guard down. In a room packed with Haha, No’s agents, Stiles had let his guard down. He shook his head.

                “I think he believes he can get Derek back for you,” Peter said, nodding toward Haha, No. “I don’t think he realizes it won’t matter to either of you unless you win him back on your own.”

                Stiles narrowed his eyes at Peter but refused to talk to him about Derek.

                “This is going to take a lot longer than just tonight,” Peter said into the silence Stiles left him.

                “So would every other idea we had. It’s more like we’re just not gaining time instead of actually losing it.”

                Smiler was cowed. He agreed to Haha, No’s every suggestion, nodding emphatically even when Nike expressed reservations. Either he would get over it or he would get killed in the arena. Maybe Nike could Remix to a stronger partner. Stiles shuddered. He was already thinking about this like it was normal, like this was how it would be. Peter set a hand against his shoulder, but it wasn’t as comforting now after being restrained and nearly felt up. On the wall, the security feeds all cut out simultaneously. Stiles watched the static while Haha, No talked.

                Haha, No stood and turned away from Nike and Smiler. “Wight,” he said, “you’re in charge of these two. They need to be trained, and they need to be protected. They also need to be kept on track. Riders, I trust you can do the job of guarding them until the new requirements have been spread and accepted?”

                Wight and the Riders saluted.

                “Good. Let’s go, boys,” Haha, No said to Stiles and Peter as he unbolted the door.

                “We’re just going to leave them?” Stiles asked.

                “No, they’re in good hands. We’re not needed here anymore.”

                “Where exactly are we going?”

                “I’m sure you and your friends planned a rendezvous of some kind. And a signal for retreat.”

                Stiles hesitated. “You know you’re not part of either of those.”

                “What are you going to do? Kill me again?” Haha, No laughed. “You can’t kill me until Watchtower is torn down or changed into something harmless to you.”

                Stiles noticed Setter and her partner had joined them like guards. The others had stayed behind. Gunshots echoed through the halls ahead. “Let’s focus on the immediate plan then. How are we going to not get shot?”

                “That one’s easy. I’m going to threaten whoever’s up there with you.”

                Stiles rolled his eyes. “Great.”

                Setter’s partner jogged ahead to the corner to peek into the fray. He turned back and nodded. “Watchtower human soldiers,” Setter said softly, “fighting a teenage human girl and a female werewolf.”

                “Tell them to stop,” Haha, No said.

                Ahead, Setter’s partner shouted, “Ceasefire.”

                “Your turn,” Haha, No said to Stiles.

                Stiles gave him a tired look but jogged ahead and stepped slowly around the corner hands raised, though there was a knife in one. “Hi, my name is Joker,” he said. “If you shoot me, I am going to rip your eyeballs out and feed them to you.”

                The Watchtower soldiers stared, confused, as the others followed Stiles around the corner. Allison and Cat looked even more confused.

                “Those two,” Stiles pointed with his knife toward Allison and Cat, “have both been bonded and fought. They are valuable. Do not dare harm them.”

                “Are you giving us orders?” One of the soldiers asked. “Aren’t you one of the infiltrators?”

                Another soldier shushed him.

                “What’s your name?” Stiles asked the man who had spoken.

                “Um. Philips.”

                “Okay, Philips, until you prove yourself as these ladies have, your name is Dumbo. Everyone, say hi to Dumbo.” The soldiers stared, confused. Stiles sighed and shook his head. “Okay, how about, drop your weapons.”

                One of them began to lift his gun at that, finally deciding Stiles was, indeed, an enemy despite being accompanied by two uniformed Watchtower soldiers and one of Watchtower’s scientists. Stiles threw his knife at the man, and it lodged into his eye socket. Bullets followed a split second later. Setter or her partner’s doing. Stiles wasn’t watching to see which.

                “I said drop your weapons.”

                “But you’re unarmed now,” Dumbo said. He didn’t raise his gun.

                Stiles laughed until Dumbo dropped his gun. When the others followed suit, Stiles told them to kick their guns away, and they did. “Now,” he said, “say hi to Dumbo.”

                Several of them muttered “Hi, Dumbo.”

                Stiles turned to Haha, No. “I can’t say I’m as impressed with the human soldiers as with your princes.”

                “They need better training,” Haha, No agreed.

                “You,” Stiles pointed to soldier who had shushed Dumbo. “Your name.”

                “Gregson.”

                “Nice. Gregson, I want you to punch Dumbo in the face. If you do not punch Dumbo in the face, I am going to kill you. My friends are not going to shoot you, and I am not going to retrieve my knife. But I am going to kill you.”

                Gregson punched Dumbo in the face.

                Stiles laughed.

                “You can have your weapons back,” he said, “and you’re going to escort me to the gate.”

                The soldiers glanced at each other, confused.

                “Are you really Joker?” Gregson asked after a moment.

                “If I wasn’t, I would not have just gotten you to literally punch your fellow soldier in the face after calling him Dumbo. Who else would be crazy enough to even try that?”

                Gregson shrugged and retrieved her weapon. “Can I ask if anyone from the command room is still alive, sir?”

                “They’re all alive. The only person I’ve killed since entering is whatshisname there.”

                “Mort,” Gregson said.

                “Excuse me?”

                “His name was Mort.”

                “Aw, well, thanks, Mort. The rest of you should arm up.” He turned to Allison and Cat when the squad was ready to go. “You coming?” he asked.

                “I forgot how crazy you are,” Cat said.

                “We should all be dead now,” Allison agreed.

                Haha, No cackled and patted Stiles on the shoulder as they trotted down the hall.

 

**~.x.~**

 

They met other squads on their way out. Gregson and Dumbo spread the word to cease hostilities. Stiles heard “Joker” whispered throughout the halls he passed every time there was silence enough to hear more than distant gunfire. They received the signal, Scott’s alpha howl, that Danny was finished and safely out of the facility as they neared the gate. Allison said Isaac had gone to join her father so he would know the difference between Scott’s howl and the enemy’s. He howled in response after Scott did, a signal that the hunters were retreating. Cat howled too, and Stiles convinced Peter to join her so they would know he and Stiles were safe. Haha, No seemed giddy.

                “What exactly do you expect to turn Watchtower into?” Stiles asked Haha, No. “If your question is answered, it’s purpose is fulfilled, isn’t it?”

                “Watchtower also exists to lead us to our ideal state. They used to think that meant eventually ridding the world of all but the strongest race. Now it will mean something different.”

                “I know you too well to believe you think it means peaceful coexistence.”

                “Obviously.”

                “But it should. You’re answer is that we need each other. That should mean something.”

                “It means many things, Joker.”

                “Don’t toy with me now, No. What are you planning to do?”

                “I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said retire to Tahiti.”

                Stiles scowled.

                “I don’t want to rule the world. I want to learn, to experiment and experience. I want—”

                “To continue kidnapping and torturing people for fun.”

                “Well, yes. I realize you don’t intend to let me.”

                They reached the gate then. Dumbo and Gregson announced their way, made it clear that No and Joker were in charge and were not to be harmed, and that President Smiler was alive and would make an announcement soon enough. Stiles did his part and grinned for the soldiers. He even stunned a few and realized with a start he hadn’t needed to stun Gregson’s squad. They’d just... done what he wanted. He felt the same rush of power he had in the warehouse realizing that something could happen just because he wanted it to. Peter raised an eyebrow at him, tilting his head as if to make it more obvious. Stiles remembered that he could smell emotions, and that he knew Stiles well enough to pick out those emotions. He hoped none of the other shifters present could do the same.

                “I notice you said I don’t intend to let you, not that I _won’t_ let you,” Stiles said when they passed the gate. Gregson seemed unsure if she should continue with him or not, but after a brief hesitation, the squad accompanied them out into the woods surrounding the compound. Stiles had already asked Setter and her partner to make sure no one followed them.

                “I’m going to sway you with my logic.”

                “Is that why you came with me instead of staying behind?”

                “That and you’d definitely kill me if I overtly tried to put myself in charge of Watchtower by staying there. This way you’ll only probably kill me.” He paused. “You don’t want Peter because you do want Derek, right? Or was Derek right and you want both of them and just feel guilty? I could give you both of them.”

                “Are you trying to bribe me?”

                “Not very well. I don’t actually know what you like.”

                “You’re not going to give me anything, and I’m not going to let you hurt innocent people.”

                “Ah, there it is! Innocent! What about guilty people?”

                “Hey,” Peter said, “I think that includes me.”

                “Your experiments are too terrible a punishment. No one could deserve them.”

                Haha, No grinned. “Do _I_ deserve them? Because there are more people like me.”

                Stiles hesitated. “That’s not the point. We’re going to topple Watchtower, not reshape it. You’re not going to have an army anymore.”

                “Yeah, I kind of will, even without Watchtower.”

                Stiles couldn’t argue. He’d just seen too many people ignore their actual chain of command in favor of doing whatever he and Haha, No wanted.

                “To be fair, it’d be _our_ army, not just mine. They really seem to like you, Joker.”

                Stiles winced.

                “Okay,” Allison said from behind him, “why isn’t he tied up, and why is he talking to you like you’re working together now?”

                “Is she an ally or an enemy?” Dumbo asked, sounding just as fed up as Allison. “Because I’m pretty sure she just said we need to restrain our commanding officer.”

                “I thought Joker was our commanding officer,” Gregson said.

                “I thought No was commanding Joker.”

                Stiles groaned loudly. “I think you’re all dumb. Dumbo especially. Haha, No is clearly manipulating me, Allison, so I can’t lock him up or kill him yet. He was very much not the one that kept all of you from shooting us, so I’m going to say I’m in charge, not him. Also Gregson is smarter than Dumbo, so whose opinion are you really gonna value more? And Allison is sort of my Yoda since she trained me in a not making me crazy way, so she’s more important than all of you. Anyone who shoots her gets dead and brought back to life so I can dead you again but more painfully.”

                “Dumbo’s actually very smart,” Gregson said, “just not when it comes to people or keeping his mouth shut.”

                “That’s sweet. Continue moving forward and not shooting me now,” Stiles ordered.

                “Yes, sir.” Gregson set the squad to moving again.

 

**~.x.~**

 

“Don’t attack, they’re on our side!” Stiles called ahead as they approached the rendezvous, still guarded by Gregson’s squad. Stiles had eventually asked how he accidentally singled out their commander as his favorite only to discover their commander was dead, and he had accidentally given her command.

                Scott waited in the clearing. They hadn’t so much set up a location as arranged for Scott to signal them with howls. Danny and the twins had gone on ahead. It was too important that they make it back to Beacon Hills. Isaac, Chris, and Stiles’ father were with Scott though. The other hunters had moved on. Stiles guessed they didn’t like dealing with werewolves.

                “Everyone stopped fighting at the end,” Scott said. “They’d see us, and we’d be ready to run and fight, but they’d just lower their guns and let us pass. Was that you?”

                “Yeah,” Stiles said. “This is Gregson and her team. They got me safely here. Good on them. Gregson and team, this is Scott. I like him better than I like you, but to be fair, I’ve known him longer.” He tried to make it funny but hoped it came out like, ‘If you kill him, I will kill you back but harder.’ He thought they got the message. He didn’t mention his father. He didn’t think he wanted them knowing that.

                “Yes, sir,” Gregson said into the silence Stiles left. “Good to meet you, sir.”

                “Uh, you too.” Scott sounded as confused as he looked. “Are they like your bodyguards now?”

                “No, that’s silly,” Stiles said. “I assume they’re paid by Watchtower, and I do not want to deal with allocating their salaries. I don’t have a secretary. They’ll go back and await further orders there. In the meantime, they’ll do as the Riders say.” The Riders mostly obeyed Haha, No, but Stiles thought they were less loyal than Wight and less likely to try to save Watchtower than Smiler.

                “Should we report back now, sir?” Gregson asked.

                “Go for it. I’m sure someone back there can get you my phone number once I get a new phone. If they can’t, they’re lying and not working for me, and you need to come see me in Beacon Hills. But otherwise, just do as you’re asked.”

                “Yes, sir.” Gregson hesitated. “We weren’t supposed to obey you, were we, sir?”

                “No. But if you stop now, you’re going to be murdered if you’re lucky and tortured if not.”

                “Understood, sir.”

                “I like you better than my last commander anyway, sir,” Dumbo added. “He called me Dickless.”

                Gregson marched the squad away while most of those left in the clearing just looked confused.

                “Do I want to know?” The sheriff asked at last.

                “Stiles told them to stop firing at us and to do as he said instead. And they did,” Cat said.

                “That doesn’t make any sense,” Chris said.

                “I know.” Allison shook her head. “I was there, and I saw the whole thing, and I still can’t make sense of it.”

                Haha, No chuckled.

                “He trained me to lead them, so I did,” Stiles said. “Can we go home now?” He ignored the looks they gave him, the looks they gave Peter and Haha, No.

                “Yeah, kid,” his dad said after a moment. “We can go home now.” There was blood on his shirt when he pulled Stiles into a hug, but Stiles noticed there was more of it after he pulled away.

 

**~.x.~**

 

Stiles couldn’t feel Derek. He could see him standing in their bedroom, staring at him. Stiles had showered and changed before daring to face Derek. It felt so wrong, not being able to feel him. They were supposed to be part of each other.

                “I talked to Scott,” Derek said. “He told me what happened and asked me to say they’d keep a close eye on Sorokin and Peter.”

                “His name isn’t Sorokin anymore,” Stiles said. “It’s No.”

                “That’s a stupid name.”

                “I know.” Stiles stared at Derek’s feet, afraid to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

                “It worked.”

                “I was supposed to temporarily injure you, not break your brain off.”

                Derek shrugged. “It still worked.”

                “Please just be angry at me.”

                “I think you’re better this way. You haven’t had a panic attack since you came home.”

                Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. “I trained myself not to have them until I felt safe.”

                “You’re home now.”

                “I don’t feel safe yet.”

                “Because Soro—because No is here?”

                Stiles shook his head. “Because you’re not. I know I’m the one who broke it, but I don’t want to live without you. I’m not sure I can.”

                “Because you want to remember to be weak.”

                “Because I love you, asshole.”

                “Cat told me about Gregson and Dumbo. Peter told me about Smiler and Nike.” Derek paused. “You sort of took a long shower, so we did a lot of talking.”

                “I’m not sure what any of them has to do with us.”

                “I don’t know. I...” Derek scrubbed at his face. “I’ve never been good at talking. It’s even worse because I don’t know what I want.”

                “You could show me,” Stiles said, stepping forward with his arms stretched toward Derek. He couldn’t initiate the bond; the werewolf had to do that. But he could talk to Derek. He could love him and touch him and hold him and make sure he knew Stiles was sorry for pushing him out.

                “I don’t want to.”

                Stiles froze with his hand nearly to Derek’s shoulder.

                “I don’t want it back.”

                Stiles dropped his hands, stepped back from Derek. His heart pounded, and his breath came in short gasps, but the attack wouldn’t come. He wasn’t safe yet.

                “It was destroying us, Stiles.”

                “It...” Stiles caught himself on the verge of saying it was the answer. “I love you,” he said instead. “I need you.”

                “No, you don’t.” Derek blinked rapidly, holding back tears. “You couldn’t lie, Stiles, when I could read you, you couldn’t lie. I know you love me, but I also know you were telling the truth when you said I make you weak, when you let me go. It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the only truth, but it wasn’t a lie.”

                “No, it was a lie. It was a lie. I promised I’d come back to you, and I did. I’m sorry. I love you. Don’t... don’t leave me.” Stiles grabbed handfuls of Derek’s shirt and tugged at him, but Derek didn’t budge. He was stronger than Stiles.

                “The talisman shouldn’t have worked on me. It never worked on me. When you broke the bond, you barely felt it. I felt my soul break and shatter and fall out of me.” Derek’s voice trembled. “You didn’t do that because you needed a lie. You did that because it felt right to you. Because it was true.”

                “I love you, Derek,” Stiles choked past tears and gasping breaths. “Please don’t leave me. I love you.”

                Derek pulled Stiles’ hands away from his shirt and stepped back from his reach. “I hate you,” he said. “I love you too, but I _hate_ you.” He turned from Stiles, and he left.

 

**~.x.~**

 

They sent Peter home. They sent him under guard, but they sent him home. Haha, No had gone back to the warehouse. Stiles had to steal the keys from his dad’s jacket, but he took his Jeep to Peter’s apartment. Peter opened the door before he could knock.

                “I thought you’d be making up with Derek.”

                “He said he hates me.”

                “And?”

                Stiles growled and shoved past him into the apartment. He threw his keys at the table, but they bounced off and skidded across the floor.

                “If you break something, you’re paying for it. I don’t care if you’re the great Joker, Commander of Confused Armies.”

                “Shut up, Peter.”

                “You’re the one who came to see me.”

                “Maybe I came to fuck you.”

                “You didn’t.”

                Stiles scowled. “Well, how would you know?”

                “I’m the only person in the world who has ever had the benefit of bonding you without being entirely screwed up by an evil genius in the process. So I just know.” He took a seat on the couch and patted it with exaggerated expectancy. “This is what I do now, right? Comfort my sad friend.”

                “Are we friends?”

                “Sure.”

                “Are you going to betray me somehow to Haha, No?”

                “Doubtful since I severed the bond in truth this time.” At Stiles confused look, he explained, “Dimitri’s power waned after we left the base behind. His work isn’t exactly done, but I think he wanted personal revenge more than anything else, and what you did to Smiler fit the bill. He also felt so satisfied watching you in action that it might have actually overshadowed his need for vengeance, which is impressive.”

                “How can I be sure you’re telling the truth?”

                “Well,” Peter said. A moment later, Stiles felt it. Peter’s mind or soul or whatever it was that formed the bond probing at his. That would only be possible if they were both free. Peter pulled back almost as soon as he had reached out. “I’m my own man at last.”

                “Uh, congrats. Sorry about the attaching you to my arch nemesis thing.”

                “He likes when you call him that.”

                “Should I stop?”

                Peter shrugged. Stiles joined him on the couch and leaned against Peter’s side. He felt warm and, now that Stiles knew he was free of Haha, No, safe.

                “I’m about to have a panic attack,” Stiles said. “Don’t worry.”

                “You’re what? And I’m to what?”

                He might have said more, but Stiles lost focus. Knowing it was coming didn’t help. It had been building, waiting for the moment when he knew he could afford weakness. Derek didn’t make him weak. Stiles could do that all on his own.

                “Should I touch you or move away?”

                Stiles tried to ask Peter if he was actually nervous but it came out as halting, gasping, high-pitched laughter. He clung to Peter’s shirt, pulling him closer until Peter awkwardly set his arms around Stiles as he trembled and struggled to breathe.

                “I don’t think I’m used to the friendship thing,” Peter said.

                Stiles laughed again, with a little more success than before. He thought he should be getting worse, falling deeper into the attack, but it felt like it was passing already, warded off by Peter’s awkward friendship.

                “You’re doing fine,” Stiles assured him when he could breathe evenly enough to feel comfortable speaking. “Easiest panic attack I’ve had in years.”

                “Should I call your dad to pick you up?”

                “I’d rather stay.”

                “I bet he’d make you feel a lot safer than I do.”  
                “Yeah, but I don’t want him to see.”

                “Stiles, he’s your dad. It’s his job to see.” Peter didn’t pull out his phone though. He held Stiles until he fell asleep.

                Stiles spent the night with Peter on the couch, afraid to go home. In the morning, Peter threw a box of cereal at him and said to eat or leave. Stiles took the cereal with him and ate it in dry handfuls on the way home. His dad was at the door when Stiles reached it. He didn’t look like he’d slept. Stiles studied his shoes.

                “I’m sorry,” he said. “I... I don’t like you to see. I know it hurts.”

                “Son, I just want to take care of you.”

                Stiles nodded. His father pulled him into a hug. Stiles cried. He didn’t deserve to cry. He didn’t deserve to have people taking care of him or hugging him or gently explaining to him how much everyone loved him. He deserved more of what Haha, No wanted to do to him. Stiles had broken Derek. He deserved to be broken too.

               

**~.x.~**

 

Stiles visited Haha, No sometimes. They had built him a cell in the warehouse so he could move around and act superior more easily. He always seemed happy to see Stiles. Mostly Stiles just stared, reminding himself how evil Haha, No was, how evil Stiles could become if he wasn’t careful. No one liked that he visited Haha, No, but no one could stop him.

                Stiles got his first message from Gregson while at Haha, No’s cell. It just read, _Gregson checking in, sir._

                _Gotcha,_ Stiles responded. _Report all significant orders/events. I’m out of the way here,_ he sent in another message.

                _Yes, sir._

                He later found ways to confirm it was Gregson, and not just someone Haha, No set up despite his confinement. Mostly he asked several people who weren’t Haha, No what Gregson’s number was, and eventually he got so paranoid he ordered her to come see him. She did. She confirmed her number. They agreed on some checks so she wouldn’t have to make a return visit to Beacon Hills too soon.

                “You never answered my question,” Stiles said, eyeing Haha, No from a folding chair someone had brought in. Stiles couldn’t be bothered to ask who. “I know it’s not original, but I still want to know. You could have made anyone into a monster. Hell, you _did._ So what’s so special about me?”

                Haha, No smirked. “They called you Joker.”

                Stiles hesitated. Without realizing it, he’d decided Haha, No had engineered that, maybe through the whispering in the walls, which must have been caused by some of those frequencies he’d mentioned at the Watchtower base. Stiles shook his head.

                “I needed a Joker. It was an important character in the song, a piece I was missing. And then this up-and-comer, someone who skipped most of the stress stages of the Freezer and defied all the apparent rules of our combat setup gets the name all on his own. How could I resist?” He chuckled, like he was sharing an inside joke.

                “The song is about you,” Stiles realized. It was Haha, No’s personal story, not Stiles’. He hadn’t shaped Stiles’ life around a set of lyrics, he had shaped his own and made Stiles a player in his act. Stiles’ eye twitched. He’d thought he was the main character of this story, somehow, but he was the sidekick. That shouldn’t have bothered him. He shouldn’t have cared.

                “I mean, I was too young to have started it when it was a code for Wind, but I decided I’d be the Thief years ago. My first big theft was the song itself.”

                “If your song is so important, why not nickname Cat Wildcat when you had the chance?”

                “Shit, Joker, they’d have caught me if I was that obvious. Half the crazy shit I did was just to convince them the not crazy shit was unintentional, just another result of my damaged psyche.”

                Stiles tapped out a rhythm on his thigh, thinking. “Why are you telling me this? You wouldn’t say anything before when I asked.”

                “We weren’t working together before. And we had an audience.”

                Stiles rolled his eyes. “They don’t think I’m qualified to guard you, so there’s probably a werewolf nearby listening in anyway.”

                Haha, No laughed. “Cat, actually. She stepped out as you approached.”

                Stiles was surprised they let Cat guard him. She wanted him dead more than Stiles and Derek did. Or had. Stiles hadn’t spoken to her since returning.

                Haha, No continued in a voice that fell short of offhanded, “Speaking of guards, they tried to turn away my last contact. You should talk to them about that. Or get me a phone. I can’t engineer the Watchtower’s collapse from inside a cage unless I have access to people not in cages.”

                “Then I guess it’s a good thing yours isn’t the only plan we’ve got.” Stiles grinned maliciously. He’d already talked to Scott. That was when he’d realized Haha, No wasn’t his prisoner anymore; he was Scott’s. Scott was in charge of guarding him, feeding him, hiding him, and deciding who communicated with him and when.

                “Oh, yes, and how is your foray in espionage going?”

                Stiles scowled. That was Scott’s too. “We’re separating the plans so no one can give too much away.”

                “You mean so _you_ specifically can’t give too much away to me, also specifically.” Haha, No grinned. Sometimes, looking at his face, Stiles understood why people hated his own grinning so much.

                “Yes.”

                “Setter wants a transfer,” Haha, No said. “She’s the one who sent the message they almost turned away.”

                “Good for her?”

                “She and her partner are prepared to be your very first set of personal princes.”

                “Oh.”

                “I assume I should transfer her immediately?”

                “Sure.” Commanding Gregson felt natural. Stiles had taken over in the heat of the moment, and now it was too late to take that back. This was different. Setter was Haha, No’s. She was a prisoner, a recruit, a mix of both, just like Stiles. “What’s her partner’s name?”

                Haha, No laughed. “It’s Devon Spade.”

                Stiles touched the tattoo on his cheek unconsciously. By Haha, No’s knowing grin, Stiles could tell he shouldn’t have.

“He goes by Spade. Has a tattoo a lot like yours but on his back.” Haha, No paused, savoring the moment. “Maybe you could build a story for yourself too, Joker.”

Stiles ground his teeth. He didn’t want to build a story. He wanted to end the one he was stuck in and get on with his life. A tiny voice in the back of his mind asked why his tattoo was a spade then. He ignored it even though it sounded like Derek would have.

                “Watchtower’s not dead yet,” Stiles said, but Haha, No only laughed. So Stiles left.

 

**~.x.~**

 

Derek wouldn’t respond to Stiles’ texts or calls. Eventually, Stiles got Scott to tell him Derek had moved back into his loft. Stiles put together a bag of Derek’s things as an excuse to visit. He didn’t get everything though. That way he had future excuses.

                Derek met him at the door. “I didn’t answer you for a reason.”

                Stiles dropped the bag at Derek’s feet. They were bare and dirty, like he’d run through the woods outside of town without shoes. Stiles dragged his eyes up until they met Derek’s. It wasn’t just his feet that were dirty.

                “You need a bath,” Stiles said. “I brought your body wash and shampoo, so that’s good.”

                “I didn’t want you to come here.”

                “I know.”

                “You can have anyone else. Why do you keep insisting on me?”

                “Because I love you. So are you not showering as a general rule, or did you literally just get back from rolling around in the dirt?”

                “You were forced to love me. It wasn’t real.”

                “It’s real to me. I think I’d have loved you anyway, eventually. We just got pushed together sooner.” Stiles paused, trying to read Derek through his eyes. “Would you have loved me?”

                Derek nodded, shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut, and nodded again.

                “Do you still hate me?”

                Derek opened his eyes and look at Stiles so brokenly Stiles wondered that he could even stand. “Yes.”

                Stiles bent down to lift the bag. “You need to shower,” he said. “Is your water working?”

                “Yes.”

                “Good, let’s go.”

                Stiles pushed past Derek with the bag and headed to the bathroom. He set the body wash and shampoo in the tub and folded Derek’s favorite towel atop some jeans, boxers, and a red sweater on the toilet lid. Derek watched him from the doorway.

                “Are you going to make me push you in and wash you, too?”

                “You should go home.”

                “I’ll go when I know you’re clean.”

                Derek growled but pushed past Stiles to turn on the water and strip. Stiles went to wait on Derek’s couch. He tried to think of something he could say or do to make Derek take him back, but nothing came to mind. He didn’t deserve Derek, but he thought Derek still needed him.

                “You’re still here,” Derek noted when he came out cleaned and dressed in the clothes Stiles had set out for him.

                “I said I’d wait until I knew you were clean.”

                “Now you know.”

                “That I do.” Stiles hesitated. “You know talking to me doesn’t have to mean we’re getting back together. It could just mean you have to talk, even if it’s to talk more about how you hate me.”

                “I talk to Scott.”

                “According to Scott, you sit and stare at nothing while he happens to be in the room.”

                “I didn’t say I talk to Scott a lot.”

                Stiles almost chuckled. He felt Derek brush against him mentally, briefly, before jerking back.

                “You’re still free,” Derek said. “I thought you would have bonded Peter by now.”

                “Peter is my friend, but he’s not exactly soul mate material.”

                “I said I still hate you.”

                “I hate me too,” Stiles said. “So it’s not like I’d hold it against you.”

                “Do you hate me?” Derek asked.

                “No.”

                “Why not?”

                “I don’t need to.” He didn’t figure telling Derek he was in love with him again would be much help.

                “Did you hate me when you broke me off?”

                “No. I hated myself then too.”

                Derek hesitated. “I still love you.”

                “I love you too.”

                “I know.” Derek ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not just you. I hate myself too.”

                “I know,” Stiles said. “I don’t hate you though.”

                “You already said that twice.”

                “I wasn’t sure it got through.”

                Derek frowned. “I feel like you already know I want you back, but not like before.”

                “Not like before,” Stiles said. “We can start like this, just talking. I like talking. I do it a lot.”

                “We used to practice talking.”

                “I think we need more practice.”

                Derek nodded. He stepped forward and sat on the couch as far from Stiles as he could. They didn’t say anything, just stared at each other. Stiles wanted to reach out and hold Derek, but he didn’t think Derek was ready for them to touch again. He didn’t think he would be for a long time.

                “Yeah,” Stiles said, “we’re definitely out of practice at this talking thing.”

                “What about eating? I haven’t had breakfast, and we can talk about the food.”

                “Eating I can do.”

                Stiles smiled. When Derek smiled back, Stiles thought he would literally burst then and there. They weren’t better, and they weren’t safe, but at least they were talking. They were alive, they were in love, and they were talking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of We Will Take It Back, but not the end of the Watchtower!   
> I don't intend to write more until season four has aired at the soonest, but it'll happen someday. I may have to make myself a rule that I can't write more Watchtower until I've finished the novel I'm supposed to be writing too...

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] We Will Take It Back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9113797) by [readbythilia (thilia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thilia/pseuds/readbythilia)




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